Draconic Supremacy
by Emperor DeLacus
Summary: Five years prior the War of Wrath, a modern girl wakes as a young dragon. Ancalagon the Black becomes her father. Smaug, a haughty and possessive jerk of a dragon, is the subject of both her hate and love. Mairon and Scatha are insane. And the alluring, dicey blood of a dragon makes her do things she wouldn't normally do. SmaugXOC. T/M rating. AU.
1. To Dragon Or Not To Dragon

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*** Note I – Disclaimer: I obviously do not own the too-awesome-for-words Tolkien Universe. I own my OCs and my imagination~ :3 ***

*** Note II – This fanfic: Just 'cause I have yet to see a a fic where a modern person ends up in Middle-Earth as a **DRAGON**. If there are others lurking about where he/she ends ups as a dragon, please do tell me~ \\(^0^)/ Hope thou, my lovely future readers, enjoy~ This fic, unlike my other two that are already posted (and the others that I'm eventually going to post) is more for _just experimentation, entertainment and amusement purposes_. My imagination LOVES to go wild~ ( ._.) ***

*** Note III – Oh yeah; the very beginning is in third person, but the rest is in first~ I don't usually write in first person, but I try~ X_X Any mistakes~? Please don't hesitate; I listen well~ :D ***

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**~ 000 - To Dragon Or Not To Dragon ~**

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"They can keep their heaven. When I die, I'd sooner go to Middle-Earth."

~ George R.R. Martin

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"_I never would have thought that I'd find someone worth more than all of these gold and jewels combined_. _More than all of the inanimate treasures of the world_. _You have changed me for the better, my lovely one_. _Become my mate_."

"_What_ . . . ?" _She loved him. She did not expect to, but she could not have helped it. Despite hating him, she had grown to love him. She had not expected him to feel the same._

"_I love you_. _I know I am not entirely_ . . . _C__onsiderable in the feeling, for I have never felt this way before_. _I am so very sorry for the way I treated you; I truly regret it. I will not force you; you deserve better_. . ."

_She softly called his name._

". . . _But I cannot shake off my feelings that love you so_."

_The two dragons, who currently took to their secondary forms as elves, gazed into each other's eyes._

_Two tears trailed down from her shining, silvery eyes. They were tears of joy; but he assumed the opposite, as concern filled his fiery golden orbs. Instinct had him taking her into his arms. She smiled a dazzling one at him and he rose a brow in puzzlement. _Crying and smiling?_ He thought._

"_Tears of joy, you idiot_," _she lightly laughed at his expression. _

_And then she gave him her answer._

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"Smaug is an ass," I mumble as I plop _The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug_ DVD into its corresponding case. After placing it in the DVD rack next to my family's living room's large flat-screen TV, I turn to my awesome friend, who hogs the black leather couch with her legs.

"He's a handsome dragon, though," my friend, Vanessa, speaks with a snicker; who coincidently just literally inhaled the last of her Snickers bar.

Well I cannot deny that. The guy who Peter Jackson hired did do a phenomenal job on that red dragon. "A handsome ass. Oh my goodness, if Smaug had an elven form –"

"– He'd be drop-dead sexy. Sex material right there," finishes my friend with a day-dreamy look in her eyes. Hey, is that drool . . . ? Her next question breaks me out of my thoughts. "Shall we continue our Tolkien-based movie marathon?"

"After we get Starbucks. I'm craving the edibles of Starbucks."

As soon as I had mentioned 'Starbucks' the first time, Vanessa leaped up off of the couch. She almost tripped too, the clumsy girl. She's obsessed with Starbucks. I love it too; I'm just not . . . That . . . Intensely passionate about the brand. . .

Anyways, we grab our purses that were lying about on the glass coffee table, and we run to the front door. She dons her feet in her low-cut baby pink converse as I shove mine into my three-inch, black and white floral sandal wedges. We then walk our seventeen-year-old selves out of my mothers' house (of course after locking the door).

Yes, my mother's house. My father died when I was younger. At least our economic status is very supportive because Mom is a Chartered Professional Accountant. But she is rather busy . . . I don't see her as much as I would like too. . .

Anyways, I digress.

Damn, today's a hot day. . .

"Felicity! Where are you going?" I hear my friend call my name. I turn to her to find that I had just walked past the entrance to Starbucks.

I briefly flush with slight embarrassment, and I hiss a, "Shut it," before she could make a snarky comment.

We enter the café and – oh goody, a short line! And beautiful air-conditioning!

…

Vanessa and I slowly saunter through the somewhat busy streets of Toronto. It's too hot to move any faster. . .

I sip my large green tea Starbucks frappuccino, savoring its' heavenly taste. Oh my God, it's so beautiful . . . And cold . . . Ahhhhhhh.

"Ladies and gentlemen," my friend speaks up from her large vanilla bean frappuccino, pretending she has an audience, and gestures to me. "This is what sex sounds like."

My lips instantly detach from the black straw. "Go away!"

"You were moaning," Vanessa laughs; her forest green eyes full of the desire to tease. "And your face looked like it was in utmost ecstasy."

"Okay. Alright. I don't care. This tastes amazing; so of course I'll behave like that!"

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Dying is not very fun. Especially when it isn't swift.

Vanessa and I both swore that the crossing lane was completely pedestrian-ready. However, some dude riding a black and silvery-grey motorbike just happened to zoom by, crashing into me. It did not quite effect that bastard, as he kept zooming by. In a hurry much? Ugh, some people. . .

Anyways, I fly some feet into the air; my half-drank green tea frap falling out of my hand. My friend screams as I plop onto the hot and hard black-grey pavement. Head first. I hear bones cracking, too. The pain is immense and I feel warm liquid around my black hair.

I cannot not move, and my vision darkens slowly. I cannot not make out anything Vanessa's saying to me. My hearing's going out, too. She cries as she tries talking to me; something along the lines of "already called 911."

Some time passes, I know not how many seconds or minutes. I can barely hear sirens as my eyelids close halfway.

And then I see nothing. My ears hear nothing. My mind is instantly severed from the connection between the spirit and the corporeal body.

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Some people say that when you die, you die. It is the end. Such morbid thinkers . . . Ah, who am I to judge anyways?

Others say that you would have moved on, so to speak. Like heaven, or its' damned opposite, or other forms of heaven. Or even having being reincarnated.

And then there are some who say, "Death is but the next great adventure." That it is unexpected where you will end up. And that no one really knows what happens next.

Well, let us just say that my situation is the very latter.

I feel light and airy as my spirit travels through translucent clouds, extremely bright golden light, and black space that is covered in colourful gasses and bright and shiny stars.

As soon as I reach the centre of a completely white light, everything becomes a pure black.

And then I feel a hard, organic surface. I blink and hiss quietly at the bright sunlight. The air smells so much fresher! It is cool and a little chilly, but it is not unbearable. My eyes finally adjust to the sunlight, and my vision is graced with mountainous rock. I conclude that I am in the mountains as I look to my surroundings. The mountains are greyish, and are kind of a sandy-brown, too. There are also darker brown and more blackish areas as the mountain extends upwards.

I feel no pain, but my body feels weird. Unnatural. And heavy, in a way. This whole situation feels unnatural. I could be in another world. That is not quite believable, but this all seems so real!

I immediately freeze as I stand to my feet. Four feet are connected to the firm stone-like ground, not two. I slowly look down and cry out at the sight of scaly lavender hands . . . Feet . . . Claws . . . Whatever!

What the hell did I just turn into? I hope not a lizard.

I take hurried and panicked steps along the mountain terrain, avoiding the sharper and jagged rocks protruding from the mountain's floors and walls. I need to find something in which to view my reflection in.

After ten minutes of searching, I find a medium-sized pond. The fuck? A pond in the mountains? Well, I guess it can happen.

I run to the pond and gasp in utter shock at my reflection. I am speechless.

I am a dragon.

A young and small dragon. I wager that I'm the size of a horse or something. My lavender skin-stretched wings are also small, and not quite fully developed. Damn it. I have to wait to fly.

My scales are also a lavender colour. It is a lovely tone; however, I had black hair. So shouldn't my scales be black? Ah well . . . My scales are also soft, and are not yet to that stronger-than-any-type-of-metal kind of level. Oh, I rhymed!

My eyes were more of a grey as a human, albeit now they are a shining silver. I release a sigh of mixed emotions – Oh my Lord, those are some sharp teeth. . .

So, where exactly am I?

The wind picks up its' pace as I hear the beat of wings. Three sets of wings, actually. I cease my moping and haul my dragon-ass towards some rocks, hiding in between their crevices. Thank you, small dragon body. And thank you, rocks, for being big yet discrete enough.

Three enormous dragons land within that spacious, pond-like area. Two of them – a chocolate-scaled dragon and a pale green-scaled dragon – help themselves to some water.

My gaze, however, is drawn to the gargantuan black-scaled dragon; who seems to be dwarfing the other two. They may be large, but they only come up to half of his height.

The colossal, proud-looking dragon scans the area around him. Seriously, that dragon is a freaking beauty! His scales are the loveliest and shiniest of black I had ever seen. His eyes are a stunning ruby-red. One could get lost in them, although I am not planning to.

And it was not until I heard the chocolate-scaled dragon addressing his name that I realize that I am in Tolkien's Middle-Earth.

"Lord Ancalagon. Was there not movement here?"

The pale green-scaled dragon sniffs at the air and gave a low growl. "I smell you, spy! Come out!"

Oh shit.

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*** After Note I – Feel free to drop a review and let me know what you think~! :D Future chapters will be longer. This is just a prologue~ (OxO) ***

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	2. The Black And The Lavender

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*** Note I – A big thank you to those favoring, following and reviewing my fanfic; it really makes me happyyy~ =') You people are awesome, and I hope you enjoy this next chapter~! =D ***

*** Note II – Disclaimer: I obviously do not own the too-awesome-for-words Tolkien Universe. I own my OCs and my imagination~ :3 ***

***** Note III – With this story, I'll be switching through two different perspectives: First person present tense and third person past tense~ The first person will always be in Felicity's point of view~ (._. ) *****

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**~ 001 - The Black And The Lavender ~**

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"I believe in everything until it's disproved. So I believe in fairies, the myths, dragons. It all exists, even if it's in your mind. Who's to say that dreams and nightmares aren't as real as the here and now?"

~ John Lennon

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I, Felicity the seventeen-year-old ex-human, is now a young lavender dragon in Arda – some time, I gather from Ancalagon's still being alive, in the First Age.

And I'm pretty sure that I am in some deep shit if these dragons find me.

I am still tucked safely (hopefully) in between some greyish-brown jagged rocks, that wind up in a small cave-like way. There are teeny-tiny spaces in which I can see through, and so I try to stay still, not moving unless I absolutely have to.

The pale green-scaled dragon impatiently slams his tail onto the hard ground, creating a small tremor within the area; along with a few cracks and some flying debris. His razor-like claws dig a little into the stone, creating small dents. "Come out, now!" His voice is as violent as is actions and I tremble at the tone of it.

"Peace, Corulagon!" The great black dragon's voice is deeply toned, calm, yet commanding. "We are here to make small rest. We've been summoned to Angband, and so we do not have the time for pointless conflict."

"I do not –!"

"The scent could be but a lingering one. She probably even left ten minutes prior our arrival," the chocolate brown-scaled dragon interrupts the other in a bored voice accompanied with a hint of irritation in the undertone.

Wait, they can immediately tell that I am female? Well. . .

The chocolate brown dragon continued. "And so, if you do not mind, please calm your anger. Your temper is worse than that of the tiny Smaug – and he is only twenty summers young."

The dragon whom I gather as 'Corulagon' scowls at his brown companion and turns his horned head away. His nostrils flare a bit as a gust of heavy air releases from them.

I rest my head in between my claws and close my eyes, hoping that they will soon leave.

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Corulagon stretched his great pale green wings and ascended into the air, his yellow-golden eyes full of impatience. The chocolate brown dragon, Jura, rolled his light blue eyes. He also took off into the blue and sunny skies, albeit kept a slower pace in waiting for his lord dragon.

Ancalagon the Black, the greatest of all dragons since the slaying of Glaurung by Túrin Turambar, did have a lingering suspicion as he stretched out his enormous ebony black wings. His head was trained to that little cave-like gathering of jagged rocks, which were against a mountain wall and surrounded by more rocks.

His ruby red eyes had caught the sight of a purplish colour – a lavender – through one of the tiny gaps in the rocks. He pondered a bit, for one does not see that colour around these parts. He sniffed around the area some more.

A familiar female-like scent.

A small space.

An exotic colour.

Such a colour in which donned scales.

He pulled his large, black nostrils away from that gathering of rocks and instantly leaped up into the air.

He knew that scent belonged to a young dragoness. What puzzled him was that there was a small human-like scent mixed in with the other.

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Twenty minutes passed, I think, and so I open my eyes and peer through the cracks. So they are gone!

Wow. For being about the size of a horse, I can sure fold myself into some tight places.

Anyways, I extend my long neck and peer out into the open, specifically towards that pond area. I see the small yet deadly damage done to the stony ground by Corulagon (if I recall his name correctly) and I shudder at the thought of myself being in place of that dented and cracked ground.

I take slow steps until I am fully in the sun; and then I take about ten slow steps away from my little hiding spot. All the while, I let my eyes trail around my surroundings.

I suddenly plop onto the hard and dusty ground, sitting. I don't know where to go, or what exactly to do . . . Nor do I know where in Middle-Earth I am. It is of the greatest possibility that I am in Beleriand; but where in Beleriand?

I stand up again and I stretch my small wings, soon folding them back against my lavender body. I can't fly yet, anyways. If only these wings would hurry up and grow.

"Ah, so you were hiding in _there_. Hello, little one."

I give a loud squeak of shock (and in part-dread) as I jump a little at the deep and smooth voice. I see Ancalagon the Black towering before me, shadowing myself and a medium-sized portion of the area surrounding me from the sun. How did he just appear? I did not even hear him!

He is intimidating to me, albeit his expression is neutrally unreadable with a tinge of amusement in his other-worldly red eyes. He makes me uneasy – perhaps this feeling is unnecessary; but he is, after all, Sauron's equal in rank, trustworthiness and loyalty to Morgoth.

"Why will you not talk?"

Ancalagon lowers his large and elegantly horned head towards me, albeit keeping a comfortable distance between us. Despite this, I whimper, and I can't help but slowly move my clawed feet backwards. My ass bumps into a wide and tall rock; and I look anywhere, avoiding him. I can't help but tremble as well.

I hope this goes well. It may not, but I shall be optimistic. Dragons can be one of your greatest allies and yet one of your worst enemies.

"No . . . Please, I will not harm you, little one."

His tone is a little softer and patient; and as I look up, I could swear that his expression is that of a father's concern. It immediately changes to a more neutral and unreadable one as I briefly glance into the black dragon's eyes.

"Does the little one not have a voice?"

Ancalagon lowers his body in a resting position, similar to that of Egypt's Great Sphinx. His forearms extend and his claws come a mere teen feet away from myself. He then rests his head atop his forefeet, gazing directly at me. His ruby orbs gaze into my silver ones expectantly. I guess he really wants me to talk. . .

Gathering my courage, I take a gulp, and my voice falters a bit as I begin. "Why do you call me, 'little one'?" As soon as I finish my question, my mind explodes. This is horrendous; how does my voice sound so child-like? I sound like a pre-mature tween! Cue mental crying. Well, it looks like I'll have to (again) grow some more in order to retrieve my womanly voice. . .

Wait, I'm seventeen . . . So I'm technically a "baby" in dragon years . . . How many years will I have to wait in order to be considered an adult?

The dragon lord before me releases a short and deep chuckle. "Because you are so tiny! Ahhh, you can speak after all."

I ignore the fact that his answer somewhat insulted me. I _am_ rather tiny compared to him. No use arguing. And so I ask two more questions, slightly cringing (yet mainly ignoring) my new and child-like voice. "I thought you have somewhere to go? And are your companions here?"

"I sent them ahead if me; and I believe my Lord Morgoth can spare a thirty-minute lateness. I couldn't have waited; I needed to confirm my suspicions."

My trembling stopped. I ask my next question, half fearing the answer. "Will you kill me?" I mean, for all I know, his, I guess, friendly behaviour could be a deception. To catch me off guard.

At my question, Ancalagon speedily rises his head, accompanied with a horrified expression. "Goodness, no! I have never killed another of my kind, and I do not plan on eventually doing so. Especially to one so young . . . Who are your parents? Why are you here all alone?"

Wow . . . For a being supposedly created from Morgoth's evilness; a well-respected and greatly feared Lord of Dragons, he sure can be caring and compassionate. Perhaps he's not all that diabolical after all . . . ? Perhaps there's more to Ancalagon the Black than what Tolkien himself had written about. This is, after all, no longer a work of fiction.

It is a reality.

"Little one? Is something wrong?" Ancalagon returns his head atop his forehands.

I shake my head. "No, I'm alright." Nah, I'm not. Not really. "I don't recall how I ended up here. I just . . . woke up here without remembering."

Ancalagon just blinks his eyes at me, and cocks his head to the side a little. I continue: "And I don't have parents. They died." Well, my mother's alive, but she's a human . . . In Toronto, Canada . . . On _Earth_ . . . Despite this great dragon's niceties towards myself, I cannot trust him entirely.

The Lord of Dragons does not say anything. Perhaps he is speechless? Is it not so common for young dragons who are my age to not have parents?

His eyes look a little pained as he sits up; and for a moment, his ruby red eyes glaze over in a foggy hypnosis. His eyelids blink thrice after a minute, their full colour returning to them. "I may have stayed here longer than I have planned to. Forgive me, but I will have to leave you here – The mountainous iron fortress of Angband is no place for a little dragoness."

Before I can respond, he continues. "There is a decent cave on this level of the mountain, close to here. I suggest staying there for the night."

I give a small nod in understanding. "Will you come back?"

Wow, I sound like such a child. I sound so dependent on him . . . This new younger voice of mine ain't helping, either. . .

The black dragon answers. "On the morrow. Do not leave this place; it is dangerous if you do."

I, again, nod my head twice in understanding. I know. Compared to the future Ages of Middle-Earth, the First Age is the most dangerous. And while I don't particularly enjoy being told what to do, I myself, does not even know what to do if I ignore his . . . Recommendations.

Extending his wings, Ancalagon leaps up into the skies. I close my eyes at the few-second heavy and intense wind current from the first flap of his wings.

I wish I can do that . . . Blow crap away and stuff whilst looking like a majestic boss. . .

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Ancalagon the Black never liked Sauron. Nor will he ever like him.

Sauron, one of the stronger of the Maiar, never liked Ancalagon. And also, nor will he ever reconsider the feeling.

It was near the end of a short – although imperative – meeting with the Vala, Morgoth, which the two enemies on the same side had a mini fight.

To what they argued about, the authoress shall not say; but Sauron taunted, and Ancalagon returned with insults.

Morgoth simply sat with devious amusement on his iron throne in Angband as the Maia and the Lord of Dragons argued. Despite the darkness, the two out of the three stolen Silmarilli that were embedded onto his black spiked crown gleamed every so brightly. A Balrog sentinel carried a message to the fallen Ainu; and so ignoring the others' bickering, Morgoth received said message. He sneered, for what he had planned would have gone so much easier if Gothmog and Glaurung were still alive.

"Save your deceptive words for your pathetic actions! I'll have no use for them, _Mairon_!"

The one who used to be called 'Melkor' returned his attentions towards his dragon and Maia. He gave a smirk, sick amusement written all over his face. _Shouldn't have mentioned that name, Ancalagon _. . . And the Dark Lord observed their following actions; mostly looking forward as to what Sauron would do.

Sauron, who currently took to his commonly favorite form – a tall ellon with fiery ruby red eyes and lusciously shiny, waist-length straight raven black hair (accompanied with a few random curls) – had given the dragon lord he detested a rather stunning yet smug, mocking grin. Until he had mentioned that name.

The Maia's face slowly contorted with rage; and his eyes burned with the desire to kill the gargantuan beast. Without warning – and so suddenly that it even started Ancalagon for a second – Sauron lifted his right arm. His grip onto his signature, elegantly designed and spiked black-grey mace tightened and he swung it. A certain magic, an invisible force or what-have-you, released from the weapon; and it knocked the great dragon several feet away.

Ancalagon gave a short and low roar-like groan, as his giant body smashed into a hard mountain-carved pillar. The pillar fell and crumbled below, and on top of, the dragon. That blow had hurt; the one Sauron just gave him. Compared to that, this tumble-in with the large pillar seemed like nothing.

Opening his eyes, the ebony black-scaled dragon caught sight of the Maia he loathed standing closer to him, albeit a mere ten feet away.

"You do not call me by that name! You do not _ever_ call me by that name!" Sauron roared with a passionate rage as he slammed the spiked head of his mace onto the extremely hard ground, cracking it a bit. "Of all the names I've donned, damned dragon, that one just had to come out of your shitty mouth!"

Ancalagon glared at the Maia as his voice lowered to a menacing almost-whisper. "Never, _ever_, utter that fucking name again." And with that, Sauron spun around, his black cape-like cloak fumbled a bit against his black elegantly designed armour.

Ancalagon gave out a low growl as the Maia left the room. He heard Morgoth releasing an amused yet unimpressed 'tch.'

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I'm sitting at the mouth of the cave I found within twenty minutes of searching. I, however, will not be describing it as of yet; for I am tired.

And hungry.

My stomach growls as I watch the rather beautiful dusk skies. The oranges, yellows, purples and darker blues. . .

I then see a lone grey pigeon, perched on a low rock, twenty feet from myself.

My stomach growls some more. I am mentally whining.

Pigeon. Meat. Food.

What? I have not realized, but I am now only thirty centimetres from the bird. Wow, what hunger can do to you. . .

I don't want to eat it; albeit at the same time, I want to devour it so very badly.

My elongated tongue glides along my sharp teeth. And the next thing I know, the bird is dead and within my jaws. I spit it out immediately.

My carnal desire. . .

Ah, screw that!

My gaze is focused onto the grey bird, and the teeth marks I left in the small body. That brief taste was kind of weird. But I also enjoyed it.

Huh.

I feel something within my throat – in which I soon gather that it is a stray feather from the pigeon. I cough, and a momentary fire releases from my mouth; in which startles me and I back away about five steps.

Cool. I can breathe fire.

Although I can't control it. I know that I am unable to control it. Not cool.

I note the baked and sudden featherless condition of the pigeon. I smirk in delight and amusement.

And so I feast on it as the sun disappears and the skies turn a navy blue, filled with bright and shining stars.

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*** After Note I – Feel free to drop a review and let me know what you think~! :D ***

*** After Note II – So I generally answer reviews via PM; however, I'll be responding to those who I can't PM here~ :3 ***

*** After Note III – Just curious, what do you think of my portrayal of Tolkien's Ancalagon the Black~? I'm trying to aim for the calm, broad-minded, dangerous and commanding leader, accompanied with a caring and father-like side, (whom he hides from everyone else)~ ( ._.) ***

*** After Note IV – Yeah, I just pretty much wanted to sum up Ancalagon's and Sauron's relationship with each other in one scene, since the Maia will also be a major character in this story . . . And so we have a pissed off Sauron . . . With anger issues despite his usual calm, self-controlled and deceptive demeanor~ (= w =) ***

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	3. Bonding In Secret

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*** Note I – A big thank you to those favoring, following and reviewing my fanfic; it really makes me happyyy~ =') You people are awesome, and I hope you enjoy this next chapter~! =D ***

*** Note II – Disclaimer: I obviously do not own the too-awesome-for-words Tolkien Universe. I own my OCs and my imagination~ :3 ***

***** Note III – Reminder: Throughout the story, I'll be switching through two different perspectives: First person present tense and third person past tense~ The first person will always be in Felicity's point of view~ (._. ) *****

*** Note IV – Just for clarification, this fanfic **begins in First Age 540** – The War of Wrath initiates in First Age 545 and ends in First Age 587~ O.O ***

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**~ 002 – Bonding In Secret ~**

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"Dance above the surface of the world. Let your thoughts lift you into creativity that is not hampered by opinion."

~ Red Haircrow

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A hiss of stinging pain escapes my mouth as burning sunlight enters my vision. Ah, go away. . .

I groggily stand and move away from the direct sunlight, and plop right down. Ahhhh, much better! The skies are almost all blue – there is a fading orange – and the sun is high, but is half-behind a much taller mountain yonder the horizon.

I do not bother thinking that what happened yesterday was a dream. It's not; I won't be ignorant. I let my mind wonder to my mother and best friend, Vanessa; wondering how they are taking my death and what-have-you. I miss them already . . . I shake my head immediately.

At the mouth of the cave, I yawn and stand up again. My stomach growls soon after. Well, I can't stay here forever! And without any ado, I leave my temporary stone-like sleeping quarters.

My stomach growls incessantly as I wonder the mountain.

I want cake. And pizza. Sushi is beautiful to have, too. And McDonalds' burgers. And Tim Hortons' donuts. AND PASTA!

The growling becomes louder.

Food. Meat. I have this insane craving for anything that which is meat.

Foooooooooood . . . I'm so hungry that I can eat a horse. . .

As if on cue, a roasted horse drops in front of me, and I let out a scream of shock.

"Little one, I thought I told you to stay in that cave until my arrival," a deep and smooth voice laughs.

"I was trying to search for food! Is this for me?" I peer up at the handsome, colossal ebony-black dragon that is Ancalagon, who gave a nod of his head. He made a landing along the mountain plains, settling in a comfortable lounging position. I notice that he favored both of his left limbs slightly; and there is a long and wide fading scar, trailing from his upper chest to his mid-stomach.

I hungrily withdraw the meat off of the horse. I can't believe that I am eating a horse. Ah well. Despite it not really having any seasoning, it tastes quite good. I peer up at the male dragon again. "Did something happen?"

He gazes at me without emotion. "Specifics, if you will."

"I mean, you were kind of limping a few minutes ago . . . And that scar; I don't remember seeing that yesterday."

Ancalagon shakes his elegantly horned head. "'Tis nothing of importance. Just a pathetic excuse for an argument."

"With who?"

He looks at me with seeming annoyance and he sighs in irritation – I don't know if it's due to the memory, or if it's aimed at my probing. I saunter and sit by his forefeet. "With who?"

"Sauron."

I gasp a little. He brings his head down to rest along his forearms. "Do not be so shocked, little one. We were never fond of one another."

Well that's . . . Something new . . . I ponder and say nothing more on the matter, and his ruby red eyes seem to relax a little at that. I speak up again. "Where are we? I know that we are in Beleriand, but where exactly?"

"West Beleriand," he replies instantly, and a flash of puzzlement lights his eyes as he stares into mine. "We are in the lower Ered Wethrin, or 'Shadow Mountains,' which is in the region of Hithlum."

I am utterly confused. I know where West Beleriand is, although I have no idea where this specific location is. I never really read over Tolkien's maps. . .

"You are still unsure?" He seems a little bewildered at that fact; mind him, I've not yet told him of my other world origins. He lifts his head up a little and extends his right forefoot to me, silently asking for my permission. Trusting this dragon, I step into the large hand. Covering my top self slightly with his left forehand, he leaps into the sky.

I squeal in delight at this sudden display of flight. I'm flying! Well, kind of . . . Anyways, Ancalagon stops and lands at the top of the mountain, still keeping his clawed hands around me. Peaking at the sceneries, I gap in awe. Honestly, I cannot wait to fly by myself.

"To our right is the higher Ered Wethrin." His voice breaks me out of my thoughts, and I examine the landscapes to get myself better acquainted with my surroundings. He continues, turning a little to the right. "Angband is far off over there. That is all you need to know about it." I see darker, black-like mountains across a vast desert sea. Morgoth's stronghold is _many_ miles away, and I sigh in relief as I now know that I am far away from danger. For now, anyways . . . I shudder at that thought.

Ancalagan turns behind us to face a vast area; in which the majority of it is green with a few rivers and lakes here and there in the distance. "This is the region of Hithlum; and this specific area is Mithrim." Large mountainous walls trail around most of the circumference of the region. There is a small – albeit still quite spacious – area in which no mountains are present.

"And this region neighboring us," he continues as he turns to our left, "is Taur-Nu-Fuin, or Dorthonion." All I see are humongous mountains in that region. There's probably more than those mountains, but I cannot see anything past them. "The secret elven city of Gondolin used to be there."

Ahhhh, no wonder . . . Those elves sure built deep! I digress . . .

I cock my head to the side. "Used too? It's gone now? Wait, what year is this?"

"Five hundred and forty," Ancalagon answers rather unemotionally. "Gondolin was destroyed thirty years ago."

Oh. Strangely; despite only reading _The Fall of Gondolin_ once in my previous life, I feel a strong wave of melancholy for the elves who used to live there. And the year . . . It's only five years before the War of Wrath! I shake my thoughts away from the future war; however, my mind continues to linger on Gondolin.

"Did you participate in Gondolin's fall?" I ask, not remembering if the text said that he did or did not.

His scaly fingers around my body become a little tense, but relaxed soon after. "I was originally supposed to." Ancalagon drops and swoops down, landing lower on the mountain range where we occupied previously.

"You didn't?" He releases his hold on me, and I back up on the hard mountainous surface to make way for the dragon to sit comfortably.

The black dragon responds, red eyes seeming to be reminiscent. "I was to be the second-in-command of that siege, and the commander for the dragon force. I refused and chose a different dragon to take my place. Morgoth found out about that the day after the army left Angband; and he punished me severely, making sure that my only defiant action against him was the final one. I have spent many a year on fulfilling my bloodlust, and one day I suddenly became bitter towards the one I serve. I was tired and disgusted with everything we were doing – and I was extremely appalled with myself for my past actions."

As he talked, I couldn't believe what I was hearing. And he is completely honest, too! I feel bad for him. Not out of pity; but as an understanding. This dragon has a mind of his own, at least a stronger one with which he can resist Morgoth's command with. I suddenly feel more of what he is feeling; and I sense a wave of deep and intense emotion coming from this dragon. I open my mouth to speak, only to have him chuckle wistfully. "Ah, I talk too much. Forgive me for burdening you with such information, little one. What are you called? I should have asked this earlier."

I gap at him for two seconds before closing my mouth. Why did you apologize; you have no reason too! Pushing the thought to the side, I answer him. "My name is Felicity."

He lowers his head towards myself and regards me curiously. "An interesting name. It sounds almost human than dragon-like. What does it mean?"

I resist the urge to nervously twitch when he mentioned 'human.' "I was told that it meant 'happiness.' My parents named me it because apparently they were ecstatic about my birth."

"As many are. I think this name suits you."

"How so?"

"I never had parents due to being created. And I have always had this sense of joy mingled with jealously when I observed some of my dragons caring for their little ones. I know it's only been two days, but taking care of you brought me a certain . . . Happiness."

I smile inwardly at his confession. "You know, I . . . Oh, how do I say this? I rather . . . Enjoy the attention's you've been giving me. I'd never would have thought that Ancalagon the Black had this side to him; after reading about your supremacy and dangerousness."

Ancalagon unexpectedly snapped his face fully in my direction, bringing his head closer to mine. Feeling his breathing upon my face, he asks, "'Reading' about me, you say?"

I gulp and my silvery eyes widen a little bit at my idiotic screw-up. "Um, I –"

"Please show me some honesty. I trust you and you seemed to have trusted me earlier – I have not even revealed you to my superior."

His voice is gentle but commanding. Nervously, and without really thinking, I explain that I am from another world, 'Earth.' I tell him that I was a seventeen-year-old human, and that I woke up here as a dragoness after being killed in that world. I briefly mention that this world is written within books in my world, and that I've read some of the tales – including writings concerning Ancalagon.

He moves his head away from me, albeit his ruby eyes still fixated on mine. It is silent. And I am stupid.

"That is why you have a human name and lingering scent. . ." The black dragon finally says something, although more to himself. He then proceeds to mumble things incoherent to me. I think he is debating with himself.

Will he believe me? I don't think so . . . But there is a possibility. I mean, he is the Lord of Dragons, and so he would have been aware of every single dragon in existence. Which means that he would have known if I am a creation of Morgoth, or if I am the offspring of two of his creations. Also, the Valar are out of the question considering that they use those giant eagles; and would never create a dragon.

"You do not have any essence of Morgoth within you. And no other being creates dragons," Ancalagon finally speaks up after, literally, ten minutes. If I was still a human, I would be anxiously sweating a waterfall by now.

I look at him anxiously. "Do you believe me? I don't expect you to right away; but I swear upon my head that it is the truth."

His eyes hold mine in a hypnotic gaze.

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Ancalagon the Black came to visit me almost every day for the past two weeks. I felt lonely when he did not come; however, I was in complete joy when he did! I don't know why I am as ecstatic as I am. I mean, I knew that I'd be happy, but not this joyful. . .

He believes me, too. It is kind of strange, for him, anyway. He was a little hesitant in doing so, but he did! I'm thankful for that; the reasons for doing so are endless. So I guess he had no choice in the matter.

He is assisting me in learning how to fly. Honestly, my progress is slow.

Super slow. I am so disappointed in myself.

I keep flapping and flapping, and then I tire myself out. My muscles seriously need to get used to this.

Ancalagon is patient, but then he sighs in mock irritation and then he proceeds to roll those lovely eyes of his.

One time I actually managed to lift myself off of the ground! It was only by thirty centimetres, though, and it only lasted twenty seconds.

Damn it.

And the ebony black dragon had the cheek to laugh at me.

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Sauron was suspicious and he wondered where Ancalagon disappeared off too for these past two weeks.

Morgoth, in all honesty, did not give out any form of damn. At least, so long as the ebony black dragon will not defy him. He has not; and so the Vala simply ordered the Maia to simply ignore the dragon.

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Sauron eventually paid no heed to Ancalagon's antics. After all, they detested each other, so why should he bother in the first place?

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However he cannot help but feel that lingering suspicion. . .

. . . Especially when one day, he caught Ancalagon sitting atop one of the peaks at the Iron Mountains that overlooked Angband; _happily purring_.

That dragon never purred. And it disgusted Sauron.

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*** After Note I – Feel free to drop a review and let me know what you think~! :D ***

***** After Note II – So apparently I received some rather rude five-year-old-like reviews; and so let me clarify a few things, to this specific reviewer: Don't read and troll. I could care less about unnecessary complaints. ****I welcome concerns and justified criticisms, but not pathetic behaviour such as that of resembling downright complaining**_**.**_** Also, I know that there are MANY "person/people-fall-into-Middle-Earth" stories. I love and enjoy them. If my author's note was read PROPERLY, you would have seen that I wrote that I've never seen one in which said person** **becomes a DRAGON**. **A FREAKING DRAGON ****. . . Read properly. It's sad, in a way, to have to spell it out in such an elementary-like way. In addition, dear drama queen, I mentioned twice in the story that the main modern world setting is Toronto. I also mentioned once that the country is Canada; and does NOT take place in the UK as you have assumed. Please do not make a fool out of yourself; and please act your age. I have no patience for idiots holding uncontrollable tantrums. ~ Thank you ~ :D P.S., This is not a self-insert. *****

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**Guest:** Thank you~! :D Here's the next chapter~

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**Once:** Thank you so much; I'm glad you love it~! :D Yeah, I've never read one either, hence me writing one. xDDD LE GASP~! I give you the highest of fives, fellow dragon lover and dragonologist~! Thank you again and have a good day~! =D (P.S., I know; I hate it when phones do that, too . . . o.o)

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	4. The Asshole And The Gentleman

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*** Note I – A big thank you to those favoring, following and reviewing my fanfic; it really makes me happyyy~ =') You people are awesome, and I hope you enjoy this next chapter~! =D ***

*** Note II – Disclaimer: I obviously do not own the too-awesome-for-words Tolkien Universe. I own my OCs and my imagination~ :3 ***

*** Note III – I realize that when it comes to dragons, there isn't really a "for sure" opinion as to, for example; what their strengths and weaknesses are, or what age they are considered adults. I notice that various authors who include dragons in their works – or who write books about dragons – all have something different about said creatures. (Even though some facts may be the same or similar, many are different from each other.) Therefore; with this fanfiction, I'll be incorporating various views, including Tolkien's, as well as _mainly taking my own creative licensing_~ =3 ***

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**~ 003 – The Asshole And The Gentleman ~**

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"What doesn't kill you comes back with something stronger to finish the job."

~ oaklungs, DeviantART

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… _One Month and Two Weeks Later_ …

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"Corulagon."

"What?"

Jura rolled his light blue eyes and sighed in exasperation at his companion's instant, curt response. _Will he ever be polite for once_?_ Really, the little Smaug has a better temper than this_! _And he is a handful_! They currently flew along the open region of Anfauglith, or Ard-Galen; nearing the edge of the golden brown desert and into the lush greenery. The mountains of Dorthonion stood distantly tall within their sights.

Deadpanning at the hot-tempered dragon, Jura continued. "Are we actually executing Sauron's orders? And why are you in _such_ a terrible mood?"

"Because Smaug won't stop playing with my tail!" Corulagon snapped, his eye twitching vaguely. "Really: I am trying to take a lovely nap, when lo and behold! The little dragonling bites my tail! Specifically the really sensitive area!"

The chocolate brown-scaled dragon couldn't help but laugh. He was very amused. "Oh, how cute!"

Corulagon scowled and glared his yellow-golden orbs towards his companion; who, in turn, continued to laugh at the thought of the scene, and his eyes filled with mirth. The pale green-scaled dragon looked away and took a deep breath, preventing himself from succumbing to his irritation. He then spoke up. "What was your first question?"

Jura calmed himself, albeit letting loose one last snicker. "Ehhh . . . Sauron. What he told us to do. Are we _actually_ doing this?"

"Well, we are on our way now. Why ever not?" Corulagon replied, accompanied with a hint of incredulousness.

"Because Ancalagon is our lord dragon! That Maia has no right."

"Ancalagon may be of our kind; however, the Maia does have a right if he suspects treason."

Jura sighed. "By having us follow our lord's movements in secrecy . . . ? Sauron may be who he is; but he is childish in his endeavour to find fault in our lord, presenting an excuse to personally kill him."

_Try telling him that yourself, _Corulagon thought distastefully. He stayed silent, although releasing a low growl. The chocolate brown dragon let his large eyes linger onto his companion silently for an extra minute, before slowly turning his head and looking away. Despite knowing Corulagon since they were both baby dragons, Jura found it hard, at times, to figure out what the other was thinking. His companion was rather predictable, yet simultaneously unpredictable.

The duo made a landing along the inner sides of Taur-Nu-Fuin's mountains, catching their breath from some lengthy, non-stop flying. They let their eyes wonder, and Jura barely flinched at the sight of the once beautiful and magnificent city that was brought down to ruin in one night. The lovely white stoned and marbled houses, towers and other larger structures were in a mass graveyard of pieces – and were no longer a pure white with which reflected sunlight. They were darkened and charred; and Corulagon could swear that he caught sight of a worn and scratched insignia – looking silvery-blue accompanied with an almost-faded symbol of a slender and swirly fountain – hidden in between some rubble.

Jura's gaze then focused on something closer to him; which happened to be rows and rows of graves. He speedily scanned the graves for some reason, possibly curious, over the names of the deceased elves. His light blue eyes stopped, and lingered onto one of the larger ones. He caught the name, "Laurëfindel" in Tengwar, and he cocked his head to the side at why this name seemed so familiar to him.

For a moment, the chocolate brown dragon flashbacked to his participation in Gondolin's fall. . .

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_He remembered standing erect along the upper inner side of the mountains, nearby one of the mountain passes. Jura witnessed a one-on-one battle between one of his fellow Valaraukar and a golden-haired elf with curious interest. His gaze was trained on the young ellon who fought valiantly; and to his surprise, Jura silently hoped that the elf would prove to be victorious._

_What happened next went so fast, and yet simultaneously, the moment felt slow. _

_Jura's light blue orbs gleamed with excitement as the fiery Balrog received a sword through the chest, and the footing slipped over the edge of a cliff. As the creature fell, the handsome golden-haired ellon turned; and the dragon's eyes widened a bit, for his eyes were met with the sapphire-like ones from said elf._

_The elf-lord's eyes shined in the flamed night as though they were sapphires themselves; and they stared into Jura's for three seconds. Said dragon felt an extreme wave of emotion through his chest; and he saw the intensity of the ellon's grief, fear, immense anger – and even a tinge of relief._

_He felt a strange sense of panic as the Valarauka grabbed the elf's long golden locks, pulling him down the cliff towards a guaranteed death_. . .

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A gust of wind returned Jura out of his reminisced reverie. Did this grave belong to that elf? Was that elf, 'Laurëfindel?'

The gusts of wind suddenly became cold to Jura. He vaguely shook his head. The winds and the atmosphere turned into haunting ones.

A tingle along his back.

A gooey chill slowly cascaded down his spine.

It felt colder to him. The cries of the wind suddenly became the cries of the elves.

Jura tightly shut his eyes, and he shifted his feet uncomfortably. _Stop it_. . .

It felt ice-cold; then it felt as hot, molten lava; and then both temperatures came into play. He smelt iron and blood and things burning – flesh, cloth, homes, greenery, and trees. _Stop it_. . .

Ragged breathing.

He discerned the haunting, scared screams growing louder; the battle cries of the elven warriors filled with wrath; and, the loud sobbing of the elflings. _Stop it_. . .

Was he morphing into something in which Ancalagon slowly was?

For many a year, he pleasurably killed, fulfilling his bloodlust; and he would comply with every order without hesitation. And then on a certain day – how randomly that may seem – during a certain hour, a certain second; the realization suddenly sinks in. And the guilt.

And the desire for freedom. What was freedom? Away from _his_ control, that was for sure.

_Stop it _. . ._ I cannot think this way_. . .

Jura saw a transparent golden-haired ellon. Said ellon's gaze bore deep into the dragon's orbs – the gaze filled with such sadness, lividness and distress; and possibly with a hint of mocking. The elf-lord opened his mouth. . .

"STOP IT!"

The pale green dragon almost jumped, and he widened his eyes in shock as Jura roared and slammed his spiked tail against the mountainside. His tail sliced through some rock, and that rubble fell as nearby birds chirped in panic and flew away.

Corulagon wanted to inquire his friend and companion's sudden horror; although as a dragon himself, he knew better than to further the other's anxiety and possible anger. Instead, the yellow-golden-eyed dragon moved along the mountain wall, which was above the area on which Jura stood. Corulagon gently nudged the latter's upper right shoulder. "Shall we move on?"

After releasing a shaky breath, Jura turned his head towards the other. "Yes. In fact, we shall never, ever, fly by this damned place."

A little bit confused (although not really displaying it), Corulagon gave a nod of his head. "Understandable."

They both leaped into the darkening skies, their destination being the lower Ered Wethrin. Jura's mind and spirit felt heavy from that . . . Obscure moment; and so he wanted to pleasure himself in the glories of sleep as soon as they reached the Shadow Mountains.

Corulagon agreed. The skies were darkening after every passing minute, anyway. They could continue their task on the morrow.

And while flying, Jura swore to never again look at someone directly into their eyes right before they died.

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It is a new day, and I've been awake for the past hour and a half. Ancalagon left about twenty or thirty minutes ago (I suck at keeping track of time) to hunt for food.

I wanted to join him – I mean, my flying improved – however, he advised against it.

He mentioned something along the lines of not wanting to put me in danger . . . And the risk of having a run-in with another dragon or others on his side.

Man, he could behave like such an overprotective father at times!

Not that I consider him as a father, but . . . Uh . . . Do I . . . No . . . Uh . . . He – he behaves like one! Yeah, that's it and all! I like him, too. Not in the romantic sense, obviously; but, I really do.

I don't know what I am thinking. I'm getting emotional.

I want food. Specifically more meat.

Hurry up, Dad – I mean, male guardian who happens to behave like a father, with which I enjoy said guardian's attentions.

A sigh escapes my lips. I wish I was an adult. I was in utmost shock when Ancalagon told me that dragons become adults when they are two hundred years old. I was very, _very_ surprised.

That was two weeks ago, and I am still in shock! I have to wait such a long time, which is one hundred and eighty-three years from now. Considering the fact that I may die before then, I find this aging quite frustrating. Damn it!

Although, he did mention that something interesting happens when a dragon turns to be one hundred years of age. He wouldn't say what that specifically was, though. He just . . . Cheekily laughed and said that I should patiently wait 'til then.

Patient my ass.

My musing are interrupted as I suddenly hear the beats of two sets of large wings. I scuttle around the grey-brown mountain plateau and quickly find some larger rocks to hide myself between; for I realize that neither of these dragons are Ancalagon.

Delicately peeking through the small gaps, I see two dragons land within the area. They are the same ones from a month and a half ago!

They seem to be suspiciously sniffing the air before the chocolate brown dragons speaks up. "Ancalagon was here."

Ehhhh? Why are they searching for him?

The pale green dragon (with whom I forgot his name – I think it started with 'Coru') then continues: "I gather the scent of a young dragoness. Come to think of it, was not this area the same one from the previous time we made a landing here?"

The brown dragon immediately snaps his head towards Coru, (yes, I am going to call him that, for now) and agrees with him. I see them wander the mountainous plateau in full alert; and I almost panic as the darker of the two dragons makes his way over here.

I hear him step over my hiding spot, but I don't hear him continue his movements. I can see his chocolate brown tail pacing from side to side, slowly dragging some dust, tiny rocks, and even tinier pebbles across the hard surface. Gazing up and past his hind legs and tail, I spy Coru, all of a sudden, turning his head towards my direction.

He is boring his yellow-golden eyes intently into mine, and – wait.

Oh shit.

"Jura! Underneath you."

Well, fuck. I'm gonna die soon.

I am too much in shock to register the claws grabbing at my tail. I am then thrown out of my spot, and my body slams into some taller rocks. Oww . . . That hurt. I manage to stand up on some slightly shaking feet, only to find the two dragons staring directly at me.

"Oh, Corulagon! She is not only young, but tiny as well!"

I am not tiny; only the size of a damn horse! I mentally sigh. I guess I am tiny when compared to their sizes.

Corulagon (thank you, dragon whom I gather as 'Jura,' for reminding me of his name) stalks closer to me and scowls. "She is suspicious. I have never seen her before."

Jura raises his left forehand in a gesture to stop the other from coming closer to me. "She is only a child! There is no harm in that, so please stop behaving as you currently are."

The pale green dragon growls, causing me to jump back a bit. "I can't. I do not like this. Sauron wanted knowledge of Lord Ancalagon's suspicious antics, and this is possibly it. His scent is even strong within the area!"

I don't like where this is going. . .

Jura rose his voice. "Caring for a young dragoness is perfectly harmless, you –"

"SHE IS NOT ONE OF US!"

I yelp at his sudden roar, and my limbs are shaking. Discreetly searching my surroundings, I try to plan some form or means of escape.

The hot-tempered dragon continues his murderous glare towards myself. "Who are you to Ancalagon the Black?!"

In all honesty, I am too scared to say anything. That asshole. . .

"ANSWER, WHELP!"

"Corulagon, you shouldn't allow for your anger to cloud your judgement!" Jura hurriedly says whilst lightly flicking his tail against the lighter dragon's underbelly.

Said lighter-scaled dragon seemed to ignore his companion's words, for he began to advance upon me.

I run. I try too, anyways. My shaky legs have me trip over myself; but I continue through labyrinths of rock, sharper rock, and opened spaces. The growling and smashing of rocks only fuel my impulse to run faster.

From the distance, I can hear Jura's attempts at calming my pursuer down; albeit to no avail.

I hop onto some rocks; and, spreading my wings, I attempt to fly. As that happened, Corulagon's jaws narrowly miss my tail – I can hear that painful-sounding chomp in such a detailed fashion. While struggling to fly, I feel his tail whip my body so suddenly, so painfully; that I speedily descend onto one of the mountain's lower opened spaces.

I scream; and in my mind, I call for Ancalagon.

I am in immense pain as I hit the hardened stone. Tears cascade down my lavender-scaled cheeks. It hurts so much; I don't want to die!

Corulagon is descending from the higher cliff above; and I stand up, only to tumble right back onto the side I had landed on.

And then the mountain's floors and walls rattle in a brief tremor-like fashion at the powerful sound of a roar. Corulagon's eyes widen in panic as a large flash of black slammed into him, knocking him painfully against the hardened walls.

I close my eyes and open them again; and I stand up with my body aching, deciding to sit in order to spare my wobbly legs.

Corulagon lied completely flat on his back, his large wings squished below him and extended along the plains. Ancalagon growls as he holds the other in place below him. The ebony black dragon's front right claw is situated across Corulagon's upper neck, right below his jawbones.

It is Ancalagon who speaks – or rather, demands – first: "Who sent you?!"

Corulagon's in shock. Possibly in fear, too. I would be, if I were him. He stutters a bit before regaining some lost composure. "My Lord Ancalagon; how you shocked me! We – we were –"

"WHO SENT YOU?!" Ancalagon roars again, and I must admit, I am extremely glad that I am not on the receiving end of that treatment. His grip tightens around my attacker's neck. . .

"Sauron sent us."

All of our eyes trail to Jura, who lands elegantly beside me. He folds his chocolate brown wings against his back. "We couldn't reject the order; we had to comply with it."

Ancalagon's eyes soften a bit; understanding them and the fact that rejecting Sauron if you're of a lower rank will grant you a wide arrange of punishments, or even death. But that was only for but a moment. His lovely ruby-red eyes narrow. "Step away from her."

Jura prepares to move, although ends up staying where he is. "I assure you, my lord, that whereas his intentions were violent, mine were not. I mean the young one no harm –"

"STEP AWAY FROM HER!"

That final roar gave Jura the panicky want to get out of here – I can see that much from within his light blue eyes. As the chocolate brown dragon saunters away from me; and closer to Corulagon and my da – _guardian_, Ancalagon releases his grasp onto the pale green dragon. He walks backwards and closer to my sitting, vaguely shaking body.

Jura gently nudges Corulagon's head, and the latter rolls onto his belly. He situates his feet below himself and props himself up on his feet.

Ancalagon, now shielding me entirely from their eyes, speaks yet again. His voice is quite, and yet dangerously commanding. "You two will not mention anything to _anyone_ about this incident. And no one is to know about this little one."

I cannot see anything due to the Lord of Dragons obstructing my view, albeit I can hear Jura's smooth voice releasing a calm, yet somewhat shaking, "Understood."

A minute later, Corulagon's deeper voice rattles with a, "As you wish."

I then see them fly up and over the mountains, and away from my silvery eyes. Ancalagon turns to me, lowers his head closer to mine, and says, "Oh, Felicity, I am sorry! This would not have happened if I had brought you with me."

"You've no need to apologize," I speak up rather shakily. "We didn't know this would've happened! Don't blame yourself."

He opens his mouth, closes it, and then sighs. He's probably at a loss for words; although, I may have thought too soon as he affectionately nuzzles my head. "No matter what you say, I am still sorry for leaving you."

I must confess, I rather love his nuzzling. I close my eyes and enjoy the feeling; and I lean into his touch.

Suffice to say that this fiasco's already sparking a higher level of overprotectiveness from the great Ancalagon.

Ah, well. As long as he doesn't chain me into the deepest and safest of caves . . . Although I do not think that it'll go that far.

Hopefully.

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*** After Note I – Feel free to drop a review and let me know what you think~! :D ***

*** After Note II – I've noticed that many of you lovelies want to see Smaug soon. He'll be making his young dragonling appearance either in the next chapter; or if not, then the chapter after that one~ \\(^-^)/ ***

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**Guest:** Thank you; I'm glad you love it~! =D Hope you enjoyed this chapter~ \\(^-^)/ LE GASP~! You need to get more familiar with the series; it's too awesome for words~ :D

**Amy:** Thank you~! =D Hope you liked this chapter~ =)

**The Random Guest**: :D Whoa . . . I'm honoured by your words~ I'm glad you love it and THANK YOU SO MUCH~! \\(*-*)/ I hope you continue to enjoy this story; and have an awesome day~ :D (P.S., I'll apologize in advance for the fact that I won't be able to publish every day or every two days due to many factors; but, I'm aiming for a chapter per week – or every two weeks depending on my schedule.) Adios~!

**Guest:** Thanks~! :D Here's the next one~ :3

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	5. The Secondary Form

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*** Note I – A big thank you to those favoring, following and reviewing my fanfic; it really makes me happyyy~ =') You people are awesome, and I hope you enjoy this next chapter~! =D ***

*** Note II – Disclaimer: I obviously do not own the too-awesome-for-words Tolkien Universe. I own my OCs and my imagination~ :3 ***

*** Note III – This chapter felt a little weird to write . . . I don't know why, it just did . . . Ah well~ Oh! And do any of you remember in the first scene of the first chapter; that I wrote something along the lines of "dragons who took to their secondary forms as elves?" Well, you'll find out, here~ OwO ***

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**~ 004 – The Secondary Form ~**

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"Our brightest blazes of gladness are commonly kindled by unexpected sparks."

~ Samuel Johnson, _The Idler; Poems_

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… _One Week Later_ …

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"Ancala –!"

"No!"

"Plea –?"

"I forbid it!"

So, Ancalagon is to go hunt for food; and being the protective dragon that he is, he is making me join him. Now, I don't mind, at all. I want to join him and witness more of this world.

However; being the _over_protective father-figure that he is, he wants me out of harm's way and not fly using my own wings, but flying as in, 'he flies and I hitch a ride on his head.'

Seriously, I cannot improve my flying and wing stamina if he won't allow me to perform said action! And so, I am trying to persuade him, yet it seems as though he won't have any of it. . .

"An –!"

"Why will you not listen to me!?"

"But –"

"No!"

"DAD!"

"FELICITY!" The colossal ebony-black dragon ends our one-on-one shouting contest with the final irritated shout of my name. He then does a double-take, cocks his head to the left side, and he stares into my eyes. "Did you just refer to me as your father?"

My eyes widen and I refrain from largely gaping. I know that I am blushing, for my cheeks feel really warm. Thank you, scales, for hiding that blush. I did not even realize that I called him, 'dad!' Well, he does behave like one towards myself; but for me to call – well shout – him that to his face is . . . Well . . . I don't even know. . .

. . . Or maybe I do. Actually, in a way, I do think of him as a father. . .

Vigorously shaking my head, I respond: "Nope, I didn't! Not at all!" I probably don't even sound convincing. "Of course I didn't; I mean, we're not even related! So –"

His comfortable nuzzling against my head silences my voice before he speaks. "You know . . . You _can_ call me your father, I you want to . . . It had actually brought me joy when you did so earlier. . ."

I feel insanely happy as he tells me that.

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* * *

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Jura found Ancalagon the Black sitting tall and regal along a black-brown cliff of the Iron Mountains, overlooking the scorching hot and fiery Thangorodrim.

He approached the Lord of Dragons, and they began a small conversation. The chocolate brown dragon then confessed to the other of his little internal incident about a week and few days ago, regarding the remains of Gondolin and his realisation and extreme guilt. And his desire for freedom.

Ancalagon listened very intently. He listened because he knew all too well. He understood this younger dragon perfectly. Jura was going through the same internal struggles as he did before Gondolin's fall – and even now, as well. Jura, like himself, was developing a freer mind; one that will strive to fully break free from Morgoth's control. A deep wave of trust flowed between the two of them.

And then Jura apologized on Corulagon's behalf, in regards to that day where the two of them found Felicity. The black dragon pardoned him, and he told him of Felicity's true origins – additionally, he mentioned to not repeat this conversation to anyone.

Jura, continuously, was curious about that young dragoness. After a moment, the Lord of Dragons commanded the other to follow him to the lower Shadow Mountains. There, he introduced Felicity and Jura, and they acquainted with each other quite splendidly.

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* * *

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"Lord Ancalagon, have you told her yet?" Jura's deep and smooth voice echoes vaguely within the open confines of a sandy brown and slight greyish mountain plateau. He and Corulagon are lounging beside each other onto their underbellies with their forefeet extending outwards before them.

They relax a few feet away from Ancalagon and I, in which we also lounge in the same positions. I am, however, metres below the black dragon's head, as I am situated in between his forefeet rather protectively. Although, I must confess: He is providing some beautiful shade for myself.

"Tell her what, exactly?" Ancalagon inquires neutrally, without any hint of emotion.

"What happens when a dragon turns to be one hundred years of age?"

The Lord of Dragons hums lowly. And then he spoke with cheekiness evident in his tone, yet not before releasing a quite snicker. "Ah, I told her to wait and see 'til she actually reaches that age."

"I'm only seventeen; I cannot wait that long!" I complain whilst my right eye twitches.

Corulagon, subtly, rolls his eyes (that asshole) and Jura gives off a light chuckle before speaking. "Not to mention that she is bound to notice sooner than later. . ."

Ancalagon grumbles light-heartedly. "Ahh, fine," he mumbles as he nuzzles the top and back of my head affectionately. He raises his head after a minute, albeit I can still feel his warm breathing upon myself. "Corulagon, will you do the honours?"

At first glance, the pale green dragon seems irritated; and yet, as I peer into his yellow-golden eyes, they held amusement and even a bit of mocking. He stands to his clawed feet, and I stare in bewilderment as this dragon shrinks and morphs. My eyes are completely glued to his form, and I think my mouth is wide open; I don't know, I can't even feel my mouth muscles . . . I think my ears pick up Jura laughing a bit. . .

In place of Corulagon the dragon, I see Corulagon the six-foot and five inches tall Vanyarin elf. His hair is straight and beautifully golden, ending along his bare waist; and his eyes are still that bright yellow-golden colour. He is deliciously shirtless (I try to ignore that fact) and the lower third of his black breeches are tucked into his black boots, which came just below his knees.

All the while he is looking at me in merriment, accompanied with a sassy smirk playing on the lips of his face. Oh my goodness, he is beautiful . . . But no less assholic; that I know for sure. Nevertheless, that morphing thing is awesome.

He loosely crosses his toned arms along his upper abdomen before Jura proceeds to scold him: "Corulagon, where is your decency?! You are in the presence of a young dragoness, you –!"

"Yes, well, she can deal with my 'so-called' immodesty," the dragon-turned-ellon waves off his companion in a bored yet merry fashion. The chocolate brown dragon scowls, and mumbles something about his friend's uncouth and ungentlemanly behaviour.

Blinking, unfreezing my mouth, and finally finding my voice, I speak up. "So . . . Umm . . . Explain, please?"

"A dragon is considered a 'full' adult by the time that they are two hundred years old," Ancalagon begins. I train my eyes towards the ruby red-eyed dragon as Corulagon plops onto the solid, kind-of dusty plateau with his legs crossed. The Lord of Dragons continues. "At one hundred years of age, a dragon is considered a 'baby' adult, so to speak."

"Which simply means that one would resemble an adult, yet they will not be fully developed. This includes developments such as hardened scales, although not invincibly hardened yet; or having a large size, yet not entirely one's eventual colossal size," Jura contributes, and then asks: "Are you with us so far?"

I nod, shocked yet very intrigued. "I am!"

"Are you sure – OW!"

Jura silences Corulagon's would-be sardonic comment with a flick of his tail against the latter's bare back. "If you have nothing to contribute aside from sarcasm, than please stay silent."

The ellonized dragon simply scowls and sticks his tongue out at the light blue-eyed dragon before flicking his head away as though he was a diva. Wow . . . His hair is flipping quite sassily as well. . .

Ancalagon continues after an amused snigger comes out of his mouth. "Yes, and so the major thing that happens when a dragon turns one hundred years of age is the secondary form. Not all dragons choose their form at this age; however, it is at one hundred when the body is ready to undergo such a form."

I nod my head again to display my intent listening, and my silvery eyes sparkle. I feel as though I'm gazing at wondrous cakes. . .

"So, you can choose any form?" I clarify, cocking my head to the side.

Jura's voice rings out. "Yes –"

"Although, you should choose wisely," Corulagon smoothly interrupts. "Because once you've chosen, you're stuck with it for all of eternity."

"In addition – more like a side note, really," Jura mentions, "the majority of dragons tend to select the forms of elves, humans, horses, or birds. Again, it is entirely your decision; those are simply the more common choices."

"That is very fascinating . . . And why are dragons able to do this?" I inquire thoughtfully.

No, really . . . Why? It's ludicrously enthralling, but why?

It is Ancalagon who answers my question. "We know not. Apparently it was a mistake Melkor made when he created us –"

"A pleasant mistake, if you ask me," Corulagon's opinion floats into my ears.

"– Just like that! And I agree with you, Corulagon, the secondary form is a lovely and very useful development."

"And so it's like a disguise? You all assume these forms and blend into societies?" I ask. I love this; I cannot wait until I reach that age . . . But I've a long way to go!

Ancalagon hums. "Yes. We assume these forms and observe society; many a time for reconnaissance purposes."

"As long as you practice your transformation and behave accordingly, no one will realize who you truly are," Jura includes with mirth dancing in his eyes. Clearly he loves this topic; but then he adds, "Well, there will probably be a handful of those who could sense a disguised dragon, albeit you don't have to worry about that."

Why am I seventeen? Can I just fall asleep and wake up as a one hundred year old dragon? I wanna transform into somethin'!

I direct my next question towards my new dad and the gentlemanly dragon. "So, what forms do the two of you assume?"

Corulagon yawns quietly and stretches his long legs in front of himself. "Lord Ancalagon takes the form of a Noldorin elf, and Jura assumes the form of a smelly human." He then rises to his black-booted feet.

"Excuse me?" Jura speaks up in a jest. "I'll have you know that my scent is rather pleasant, thank you very much!"

"Doesn't matter. All humans are smelly. And they are weak – I honestly have no idea why you would choose to be amongst one of them."

"Oh, come now! They are not all bad once you understand them. They have their own strengths and faults – it is what makes them fascinatingly human."

Ancalagon and I are quite amused as their bantering continues for many more moments.

"Do not even judge me; I rather love learning about them!" Jura declares with such a dedication, to which Corulagon scoffs (either in amusement or irritation, or both) and shakes his head. My vision sees a smile trying to be held back by said elf-dragon.

It was then that Jura made the decision to shrink and morph into his secondary form. I am, once again, in awe at the transformation of Jura the dragon into Jura the human – a very attractive human . . . He stands at six-feet and two inches (I think), and his eyes continue to be a light blue in colour. His chocolate brown hair is tastefully wavy (there are a few random unruly strands sticking out) and it fell a little bit past his shoulders, a few tendrils framing his face. His navy blue tunic looks quite comfortable, as it is moderately baggy, and his breeches and boots are identical to Corulagon's. Accompanied with his slightly tanned skin, Jura can be easily perceived as a mixture between a Gondorian (which I believe Gondor does not exist as of yet) and a Haradan.

Completing his transformation, Jura instantly, literally, hops towards an attempting-to-retreat Corulagon and proceeds to pester him.

Ancalagon also transformed, only into a too-handsome-for-words Noldor ellon. He is so damn tall, too – I think he reaches about seven-feet and four or five inches! His eyes are still a captivating ruby-red, and his straight ebony-black hair reaches past his waist . . . I think right towards his hips.

Adoptive father, please, no matter what the circumstances are, do NOT cut your hair. Not even two inches. Not even a point-five centimetre . . . Not even if Sauron pulls at it and you want to get away; your gorgeous hair deserves to be left alone.

Ah, I digress . . . Again . . . ANYWAYS:

Unlike Coru-Coru (yes, I will call him that secretly) and Jura, Ancalagon is completely dressed – looking every bit the Lord of Dragons that he is (and a little intimidating, as well). Withal, his black breeches and boots are identical to the other two, and his fitted tunic is a dark red – border lining burgundy, though more red than brown. His shiny armour is a jet black. It is elegant and well-crafted; and there are intricate elven and draconic designs. The outer side of his cloak-like cape is black and the inside of it is a dark red, only slightly brighter than his tunic. Twin swords rest comfortably behind him, situated firmly along his back.

It is his disguise that surprises me the most. It's just . . . He looks so different and unrecognizable; and yet, the same – at least, those who know him could easily deduce that he is Ancalagon the Black.

But how do they have clothes? I mean, when they transform from humanoid to dragon, wouldn't their clothing rip? Like the Hulk?

I ask Ancalagon this; and he responds with saying that with whatever clothing one is wearing, it will morph with your body.

Huh . . . That's really interesting.

The way he gazes at me is that of a loving father; and he pats me gently, soothingly, along my muzzle and neck. I purr.

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* * *

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"Oi, Lavender Scales. You're clumsy."

That voice is young – boyish too, but not completely child-like – and I scramble to my feet to face this newcomer.

So prior this, I wandered throughout the lower Ered Wethrin. Ancalagon advised me not to wander without someone close by, but I couldn't help it. Ancalagon's reluctantly at Angband.

And I was bored. I wanted to explore.

Anyhow, I had travelled along the rocky cliffs; when I tripped by tangling my own limbs together, and by not really paying attention as to where I was moving along. I tumbled down a cliff that wasn't very high and landed on my left side.

Oh, how embarrassing! Especially since someone was, and is still, within close proximity.

This newcomer is a young male dragon; who is around my size, only five inches taller. His expression is rather cocky, and his eyes are swimming with sardonic amusement. Please don't behave like Coru-Coru!

But really . . . This dragon's eyes are gorgeous! They are a fiery golden; warm, passionate, scorching, bright . . . They draw me in. His scales are a nice red – more of a crimson colour. Overall, he is a rather good-looking dragon.

I swear I've never met him before, and yet I've seen a dragon with these specific colours. . .

"I know I'm attractive, but it is not polite to stare, Clumsy Lavender Scales."

Oh, the nerve! The cheek of that . . . Has he been spending time with Corulagon? I'm recognizing familiar speech patterns and facial expressions here. . .

I blink and glare with irritancy towards this . . . Asshole the Second. "You simply startled me is all! And I am not clumsy; I just tripped!"

He sniggers. "You tripped because you are clumsy."

"Oh, please, it happens to every one!"

"It never did to me –"

"Shut up!" I am enraged; and I know that I am foolishly letting my anger control me. I just can't help it. "Who the fuck do you think you are to just waltz over here into my private space?!"

"Oooooh, feisty. . ." he mumbles in mirth and releases a short laugh.

Go die. Go away.

He raises his voice clearly, and he procures a mocking bow before standing up straight and gazing into my silvery, vexed eyes. "Well, since you've asked oh-so-very politely: I am Smaug."

By instinct, my eyes widen and my mouth gaps in a wide 'O' shape.

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*** After Note I – Feel free to drop a review and let me know what you think~! :D ***

*** After Note II – See~? Smaug _did_ make his appearance~! Although it wasn't much, there will be more of him in the next chapter~ :D ***

...

**Guest:** Awww, thanks so much~! =D It's fun writing those moments; and I'm glad you like them~ :D

**The Random Guest:** Hee Hee, thank you so much for your lovely words~! :D It's fun writing those cute scenes – and I plan to write more~ x333 Ah, really~? Although I most likely won't take that long to update, I thank you profusely~ *Offers you cake* Anyways, I hope you have a good day~ Namaaaaarië~! Adios~! xDDD

**Guest:** Thank you~! :D Here's the next one; hope you liked it~ :)

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	6. Mairon Finds Out

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*** Note I – A big thank you to those favoring, following and reviewing my fanfic; it really makes me happyyy~ =') You people are awesome, and I hope you enjoy this next chapter~! =D ***

*** Note II – Disclaimer: I obviously do not own the too-awesome-for-words Tolkien Universe. I own my OCs and my imagination~ :3 ***

*** Note III – A quick note: For those of you who have read my Thranduil X OC fanfic, _To Be Willing_, the Smaug and his parents in this story will kinda be different from the Smaug and his parents in that other story~ Although, his parents' names and physical appearances will stay the same~ (I'm not introducing Smaug's parents in this chapter; I'm just adding this side note in case I forget to when I do introduce them~) =3 ***

*** Note IV – Just had a _Star Wars_ marathon . . . It feels so good to watch those movies again after a while~ (= w =) ***

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**~ 005 – Mairon Finds Out ~**

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"I figured something out. The future is unpredictable."

~ John Green, _An Abundance of Katherines_

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Smaug.

This arrogant ass introduced himself as '_Smaug_.'

I don't know how long I stood there, gawking quite idiotically at him, but I know that it's a while because of what he says next: "Are you ever going to top staring? You look stupid. Why do you seem so shocked?"

Oh, you have absolutely noooooo idea!

I quickly close my mouth, and my widened silvery eyes morph into a glare. "Just fuck off."

The red, crimson dragon before me does not move an inch; and he looks to be more entertained than annoyed by my swearing. Rolling my eyes, I turn away from him and march down the mountain range. It is after ten steps that I feel someone bumping into the left side of my body.

"Oi, Lavender Scales! I wasn't done with you."

I turn to my left side, and my mouth twitches at the sight of this little asshole. "Well I am quite finished with you," I reply rather haughtily. The tone surprises me, for I never really use a haughty one. "You. Are. RUDE. Why are you bothering me?"

He ignores my question and snickers; soon leveling my glare with his fiery golden gaze. "I want your name."

"Why?"

"I told you mine, obligating you to tell me yours, Clumsy."

"Do not call me that!" I yell, whipping my tail against his side, twice. Although he does have a point; my anger is, quite unfortunately, taking over for the moment.

The jerk simply titters mockingly. "Oooh, the feistiness continues! If you do not want me to call you that, then tell me your name."

I sigh and close my eyes. He really is _infuriating_; though returning the fire myself won't quite help the situation. . .

Opening my eyes and taking a deep breath, I level Smaug with a calm expression (even though I'm internally flustered). "You have to ask politely, first – it's common sense."

Firstly, he does a double-take before scoffing. Secondly, his nostrils flare, and he turns his head away – I daresay in possible embarrassment. I did, after all, state indirectly that he does not have common sense.

Niehahahaha.

Victory! Kind of. . .

Turning his face towards mine, he restates his demand in a question.

Now, it is my turn to be amused. He asks said question in a deadpanned tone that sounds as though this is torture. Really, _how is it torturous to be polite_? I really cannot comprehend it. And I realize that I'm not being entirely polite either; however, I usually am. Even pissed off, I'm trying to be polite . . . AND HE STARTED IT!

Anyways, I decide to give him my name; and after doing so, he seems satisfied – and a little smug. It is then that I turn my back to him, and proceed to stroll away, calling out a, "Good day!"

I hear hurried footsteps; and unexpectedly, Smaug darts in front of me. "Leaving so soon?"

Tilting my head to the side, I question his action. "What are you doing?"

"Preventing you from leaving."

No shit, Sherlock. And for what feels like the hundredth time, I ask him, "Why? Just why?"

At that, he procures a suspiciously mischievous facial expression. "You know, I have no idea. . ."

Rolling my eyes I turn in the opposite direction. Smaug darts in front of me. Widening my eyes, I whirl away from him again . . . Only to find him right in front of me once more. . .

Damn, he's fast. No sexual innuendos intended.

I loudly groan in frustration; pushing past him as he sniggers, finally ending the obstruction of my path. After turning a sharp corner along the light, brownish-grey mountain range, I suddenly hear footsteps.

"Quit following me!" I holler at Smaug as he sashays to my side, soon matching my steps with his feet.

He gazes down at me, accompanied with a rather charming, sassy smirk. "No; I want to. You're an interesting one."

I stay silent and turn my head, fixating my silvery orbs onto where I'm sauntering. We walk in silence for a few minutes; and my cheeks feel warm as my peripheral catches Smaug staring at me.

The wind increases its' pace, and the breeze becomes stronger. The sun plays peek-a-boo with the bountiful clouds, which are gliding so smoothly along the skies.

Smaug nudges my shoulder with his muzzle; and the action, to my surprise, has me softly smiling – though I turn my head away to conceal said smile. I pretend to ignore it, but then he nudges my shoulder again, albeit with a little more force. Alright. Fine.

I flick my tail against his back, to which he instantly responds with a flick of his tail against my back. I deadpan, unimpressed at him, and he glances at me with eyes full of innocence – that cheeky –! Ugh . . . Rolling my eyes, I turn my head away from him; though, not before I catch a flicker of mischief from within his scorching orbs.

"Go away," I mumble as I increase my pace to a fast walk.

Smaug catches up to me and titters. "You know I won't – at least not now." And then he pushes his luck . . . By flicking my ass with his tail.

Let us just say that I immediately tackle him onto the hard, dusty ground.

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So here I am, bonding with Jura. Well, it's more like him giving me lessons on speaking Sindarin, but whatever. Evidently, it is a must for dragons to learn and be fluent in Sindarin and Quenya – not that I'm complaining; I rather love those languages. Jura previously mentioned that these languages are a "must learn" considering the fact that they are major tongues.

We're lounging about on one of the cliffs of the mountains as he teaches me the "easier" of the two major Elven languages. Ah, he's so patient! I really like Jura; he's a gentleman . . . Gentledragon . . . Whatever. Unlike a certain Coru-Coru and his young, fiery golden-eyed disciple of assholery and cheekiness – and general uncouth behaviour.

It is after we review Sindarin greetings, farewells, and a few other simple everyday sentences and questions; that I ask him something I keep forgetting to ask Ancalagon: "Why is it that my existence has to be kept a secret?" I mean, if I am a dragon, can I not just sneak around Angband without actually being secretive?

"Ah," Jura begins, "it's quite simple, actually. Do you remember what Corulagon shouted when he and I first discovered you?"

After a minute, I nod. "He said, 'She is not one of us.' What does that have to do with it?"

He shakes his head and gently pats mine for a few seconds. "Because what he said is exactly the reason why you have to be kept a secret. He immediately knew that your energy was different – I knew, as well, and Ancalagon knew when he first met you."

Realization dawns on me as my eyes faintly widen. He continues. "The adult dragons would know; and as beastly as they are, the Valaraukar would also know, as they are a form of Maiar. They will try to kill you!" He does not continue, as I know that with Sauron and Morgoth – especially Morgoth – they will realize _more_ than the fact that I am just simply 'not one of them.'

…

I'm flying down the mountain! Wheeeeeeee!

Jura watches over me as I continue to practice my flying, building my wing muscles in the process.

"Felicity, don't wander off too far!" I hear the chocolate brown dragon call out to me.

Puffing out my cheeks for a few seconds, I respond rather childishly whilst staring down at the indefinite river, Sirion, which ran in between Ered Wethrin and Taur-Nu-Fuin. "I wanna splash around in Sirion! It's been awhile since I've had a swim; surely that's not too much to ask?"

My hearing picks up laughter as I am then covered with shade. After twenty seconds, Jura descends past me and makes an elegant landing along the river bank. Show-off.

Finally plopping ungracefully onto the grassy river bank, I run to the water and proceed to swim about in Sirion. It's a lot different swimming as a four-legged creature than swimming as a human. The body has a better balance and stuff. . .

Ahhh, this feels so good! I'm purring.

I notice Jura's light blue eyes narrowing only slightly; and he raises from his comfortable lounge to a straight-backed sitting position, turning the other way. Furrowing my brow, I swim my way to land and walk over to him. "Is something wrong?"

"Stay close to me," is all he says.

A large group of orcs (I'm finally seeing orcs for the first time; and they definitely ain't pretty) appear from within my sights. They are jogging – and I think I see a human woman slung over the shoulder of one of the orcs at the front. She's wearing a simple, woolen auburn travel dress, accompanied with dark brown leather travelling boots. Her hooded cloak is a stormy grey.

Poor woman . . . I feel so bad for her! I wanna help her. . .

The orcs cease their movements when Jura hails them. As he inquires about their doings; I take the time to survey the humanoids and notice that even though orcs and dragons are technically on the same side, this rabble is rather uneasy. They look rattled, and some of them are fidgeting, or shifting uncomfortably on their feet from side-to-side.

". . . if I take the human?"

The last half of Jura's question brings me out of my calculating reverie. I spare a quizzical glance up at the dragon, before then returning my gaze towards the unconscious woman. Does he want to help her as well . . . ?

"Why?" one orc snarls. Fuck, I can smell their odour from here.

"Ah, well, this little one," the dragon coolly responds as he makes a small gesture down towards myself, "has never tried eating a human before. She is very curious."

Smart.

The orc who carries the woman growls impatiently. "This here's ours! Like he said, there are other humans over there!" He gives a flick of his head towards the direction of some distant hills. "Shouldn't be a problem for you."

The fact that Jura continues to be all calm, cool and collected kind of makes this situation amusing to me. "Yes, well, we want this one." He then, oh-so-gently, plucks the woman away with his right index finger and thumb; nestling her within his palm before placing her in front of me.

She looks young . . . And pretty . . . Parts of her lengthy, wavy black hair tickle the tops of my scaled hands as the wind blows her hair against the lower half of my forelegs.

I catch some more congested orc-voices:

"He behaves strangely."

". . . never happened before."

". . . generally don't care about our prisoners. . ."

And then they do something really idiotic; such as, taking combative positions.

I hear a low growl from the male dragon behind me; and I can feel heat as his upper chest and the throat of his long neck begins glowing as if it were molten lava. As soon as one orc releases an arrow from his bow, a huge fire bursts out of Jura's mouth. The animalistic wails of the orcs last only for a moment as the fire quickly incinerates them alive.

Heehee.

As the flames begin to die down, I feel someone's hand flopping against my leg. Casting my head downwards, I notice the woman moaning and stirring . . . And then I am met with warm brown eyes. She stares at me, studying me in silence.

Don't freak out, don't freak out –

"DRAGON!" she screams and stumbles to a sitting position. Oh, who am I kidding? Of course she's gonna panic! As she crawls backwards, looking at me in fear, her back suddenly bumps against the side of Jura's ankle on his left foreleg.

"There are more of you?! NO! SOMEONE!" the woman continues screaming. Jura and I try to tell her that we're not a threat, though she does not want to listen.

Sighing, I march so that I am standing directly in front of her. "WOMAN, CHILL! CALM YOUR SHIT!" The human stops shrieking, though she is whimpering.

"There you go again, Felicity, using that odd lingo of yours!" Jura breathes.

"What?" I sass. "It worked in shutting her up, didn't it?" The chocolate brown dragon simply rolls his eyes and shakes his head.

"We should probably return you to wherever you came from. . ." I speak lowly as I playfully bat at the tip of the human's boot.

At my action, she immediately brings her knees up, and presses them against her chest with her arms going around them. "Please don't . . . NO! UNHAND ME! PUT ME DOWN!"

She resumes her shrieking as Jura gently, though firmly, picks her up in his right forehand. The older dragon sighs. "I am only returning you to your caravan. The orcs told me where, so that shouldn't be a problem."

She continues struggling against his hold, even though it is pretty much useless. She does, however, calm down and stays silent a few minutes later; when Jura's flying across the landscape. I sit atop his head, grasping onto one of his long horns for support.

…

Jura lands by some green hills – close to the woman's caravan, yet still some distance away. The woman in Jura's grasp stared up at us, surprise written all over her face at the fact that we dragons actually kept our word and returned her.

I notice that some of the humans within that caravan seemed to be re-counting their supplies; another some were repairing carts; and, a few tended to the wounds of a good portion of the group. A few women stay with a group of children, and a handful of men are disposing of their dead with dignity.

Though, it seems as though our arrival had them stopping what they were doing. Their eyes fixate unto us; and some of them fidget or sweat in fear – and puzzlement at the fact that Jura and I aren't going all berserk on them . . . Be lucky we're the sane ones.

Jura lowers his forehand to the grassy ground, and the wavy black-haired woman stumbles out of it. Her body is fully turned towards her caravan, and yet, she does not move. It is after a minute that she turns to us. Though she doesn't smile, her eyes – still filled with uneasiness – display gratitude. "Thank you for returning me to my companions," she says clearly, though softly.

"'Tis of no problem," Jura responds with a gentle smoothness. I simply smile and wave at her.

The young woman turns and walks, soon breaking out into a run towards the caravan. An older man and woman – who look like her parents – immediately hurry towards her, and they engulf her into a loving embrace.

A few more humans come and surround them; though, I don't know what happens next because Jura leaps up into the sky without warning.

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* * *

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Meanwhile, Ancalagon and Corulagon were in a stronghold city within the Mouths of Sirion; conducting some reconnaissance in their elven forms. Specifically, they were in the archives, which happened to be in the main fortress. Thankfully, for them, they were the only living organisms within the extremely large room . . . At least, for now.

Ancalagon had been sifting through documents whilst Corulagon stood near the door as a look-out. The golden-haired elf-dragon sighed lowly and loosely crossed his arms against his dark armoured abdomen. "Lord Ancalagon, have you found what Melkor wanted?"

More rustles of parchment. The "ellonized," ebony-black-haired dragon answered, though still focused on his searching. "I'm getting there. And don't refer to me by my title any longer, if you please."

Corulagon did a double-take at his companion before turning his head and focusing his gaze into the hallway. Ancalagon did not know why he said that . . . Well, maybe he did. Over the years of Jura and Corulagon being his subordinates, they had been recently growing on him – especially since Jura and he were now each other's confidants. Ancalagon did not mind developing a friendship between the two.

Pocketing a few folded parchments, the Lord of Dragons strode to where his yellow-golden-eyed companion stood. "Shall we?"

"About time!" Corulagon breathes as the duo proceeded to sashay through polished stone hallways and staircases.

Turning a corner, they ran into three ellyn: Two armoured sentinels and a lightly armoured scout. The dragons in elven forms kept their cool, and they bowed their heads in respect when the other three did so. One of the sentinels gawked at the height of Ancalagon as the two continued on their way.

"That was close. . ." Corulagon murmured.

Ancalagon spoke clearly, though not too loud. "Just remember to not sustain eye-contact for an extended amount of time, Corulan." In their Elvish forms, Corulagon was called, 'Corulan,' and Ancalagon was referred to as, 'Ancalion.'

Finally reaching the bottom floor of the fortress, the duo came across a couple of ellith – maids. Their eyes seemed to be glued towards the elf-dragons (well, said elf-dragons were both ludicrously attractive).

Cheeky Corulagon offered them a seductive smirk and wink as he passed by them; causing one to blush, and the other to shyly look away. Ancalagon rolled his eyes and smacked the other upside his head.

"Ow! Was that really necessary?!" the golden-haired elf-dragon complained.

Ancalagon chuckled. "Oh no; it definitely was!" His tone then morphed into a more serious one. "I do not need you stalling for even a second – the sooner we leave, the better."

Corulagon subtly rolled his eyes and mumbled. "You just want to see Lavender Scales. . ."

Ancalagon smiled at the brief thought of his little one. Yes: He couldn't wait to see her after a week of not being able to do so.

The elf-dragons passed by the guarded main front door, and strolled into the sunlight-filled courtyard. Indistinctly quickening their pace out of the area surrounding the fortress, Ancalagon and Corulagon passed by two dark-haired, young warrior ellyn in silvery armour; astride chestnut horses and making their way towards the fortress.

As these ellyn passed the two elf-dragons, they halted their horses and stared after them with suspicion. . .

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* * *

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… _Two Months Later_ …

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"Ahhh, so this is what Ancalagon has been up to."

Taking a relaxing stroll along one of the lower levels of the mountains whilst waiting for Ancalagon (he mentioned yesterday that he will come to see me around this time today), I suddenly halt at that voice; to which I then turn around.

There's a tall (severely tall; standing between eight to nine feet), handsome ellon with fiery ruby red eyes and straight, lusciously shiny, waist-length raven black hair – which happened to have a few random curls here and there. He wears black elegantly designed armour, accompanied with an equally as black cloak. There is a dark sword strapped about his upper left hip, and an interestingly designed spiked mace rests firmly across his back. His arms are loosely crossed, and the rest along his abdomen.

He smiles charmingly at me; albeit despite that, I can't help but feel uneasy. The smile seems innocent, and yet there's a hidden menace within it.

"Wh–who are y-you?" I manage to stutter out. Oh, come on! 'Stutter?' Really?!

I no longer think that this is an ellon of the Noldor; I mean, look at his eyes! Not only are they a ruby red, but they are fiery. They _glow_ as if a literal flame burns inside them.

"My, aren't you cute!" this guy mock-gushes. "I go by many names; though, many call me 'Sauron.'"

Wow . . . Who knew Sauron would be _extremely_ sexy.

He's just too drop-dead gorgeous for words! Those thoughts, however, escape me almost instantly. Who cares if he's alluring; this guy is Sauron! A damn Maia! Melkor's second-in-command!

Sauron, with inhuman speed, suddenly appears right in front of me. As his eyes invade mine, my mind screams for my father (yes, I now no longer refer to Ancalagon as my adoptive parent or guardian, but my father. Long story short: I simply became much attached to him; especially since I haven't had a proper father figure, as my real father died when I was a tiny little kid).

I flinch as he pats my muzzle. "You do not strike me as familiar," the Maia continues in that sickening sweet tone that is edged with creepiness. "I have never seen you around other dragons, and I know for sure that you are not a direct creation of my lord."

As soon as he proceeds to grip my muzzle harshly, I shake my head out of his hand and take a few steps backwards. "Stay back!"

The Maia tilts his head to the side and procures a fake pout. "Awww, please don't behave like this."

"I don't trust you."

He straightens his head and scoffs whilst holding a smirk. "Neither do many."

You don't say?!

"Where did you come from?" Sauron presses.

A shadow sweeps over us. "Sauron, I suggest keeping your distance," booms Ancalagon as he lands behind me, folding his wings against his back. About time! He covers my body protectively with his right forehand; in fact, the only part of me that Sauron could see is my head.

"Ancalagon!" the Maia greets with a scornful grin. "Why are you doing this? She is foreign – her energy is otherworldly – and is not one of us. I honestly cannot comprehend how she is a dragon, and yet, is not one of our lord's creations."

"That should not matter; especially since she's done nothing to impede on our lord's plans," Ancalagon responds rather calmly, though I can detect a tiny hint of fear from his tone.

Sauron laughs. "Oh, but it does! She is not one of us – and what do we do to those who are not on our side? We torture and kill them!"

I tremble as Sauron speaks – he sounds like a psychotic serial killer! He continues. "She's not even your own flesh and blood; surely killing her –"

I flinch at a sudden action: Ancalagon sweeps his tail, whipping it against Sauron and interrupting said Maia's voice. The force of my dad's tail sends the raven black-haired being flying several metres away and colliding into one of the mountain's walls. Dust emerges, and broken pieces of the mountain fling in various directions. I cringe at that, too. If Sauron wasn't a Maiar, he'd be dead with a smashed skull; broken bones sticking out of his clothing and flesh; and, spilled innards.

"Beastie wants to plaaaayyyy," the Maia tauntingly sing-songs as he manages to pop himself out of his 'kind-of-embedded-into-the-mountain-wall' situation. Stumbling a bit, he coughs out blood, and it splatters like rain onto the solid ground.

Ancalagon growls, ignoring the singing taunt. "Do not talk of her like that! This does not have to –"

And this time, it is Ancalagon who's suddenly interrupted. Sauron gives a swipe of his right hand, and an invisible force releases; knocking both Ancalagon and I several feet away. I cry as I crash into an extremely hard wall, tumbling down onto the ground and landing on my side. Ancalagon is no longer near me, though I can hear his groan as he smashes against the mountain; and my ears perceive the tumbling of rocks.

What I find strange is that I can barely move. Even though the pain is immense, I would assume that I can at least move my head or tail or something . . . But I can't move anything at all! It's as though Sauron's power paralyzed me for the moment. My vision fades slowly, and the few tears that drop from my eyes only enhance the clouding of my vision.

I can hear Ancalagon and Sauron continuing their fight. They spout curses and insults at each other – first in the Common Speech, and then in some other language I have not heard of.

I feel so weak . . . And insanely sleepy . . . I don't think I can even keep my eyes open halfway any longer. . .

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* * *

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The Lord of Dragons delicately scooped an unconscious Felicity into his larger left forehand. He brought her upwards to his heaving chest, holding her against his beating heart.

Sauron's dark, moderately disheveled hair fumbled gently in the rather calming, yet cool, breeze. He wiped a ribbon-like trickle of blood from the right corner of his mouth, smudging the thick liquid along his lower jaw. His chest slowly heaved up and down as he fixated Ancalagon with a widened glare of shock and anger.

Valiantly standing his ground, Ancalagon roared; and as the dragon did so, Sauron could have sworn that he felt a cold, uncomfortable tingle creeping down the length of his spine.

"SHE IS _MINE_! SHE IS _MY_ DAUGHTER, AND YOU WILL _NOT_ TOUCH HER!"

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*** After Note I – Feel free to drop a review and let me know what you think~! :D ***

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**The Random Guest:** Thank you very much~! =D You're welcome; glad you liked the virtual cake~ LOL xDDD And thanks for recommending, _The Misadventures of an Impervious Mary-Sue_ – It was quite enjoyable and fun to read, and was definitely not a waste of time~ :D Adios~! (~*O*)~

**Guest:** Thank you~! :D Here's the next one; hope you liked it~ :)

**Rayne:** Thank you so, so much for liking the story; for your compliments and your critiques~! =D Glad you liked the father-daughter bond (the romance won't come 'til later; but I promise not to drag it on for TOO long). As for what more I'll come up with, thou shalt have to wait and see . . . Muahahahaa . . . ;D Yes: Felicity's and Smaug's relationship . . . Tee Hee~ x) And now for your critiques/questions/requests~! Longer chapters? I can definitely do that~ ;) I won't promise that all the remaining chapters will be longer, but I can aim for most of them to be so. :) Ancalagon keeping Felicity a secret from Sauron and Morgoth? I originally planned to write the reason why after Ancalagon saved her; but when I came to write that part, I completely forgot about it . . . Your review reminded me, so thank you~! :D As for who exactly Corulagon and Jura are, and what they mean to Ancalagon . . . I generally don't reveal everything (or most things) about a character right away, especially since there were only five chapters (well six, now) – it's not really my style . . . HOWEVER, you do have a point: Considering that I did introduce the C.J. duo at the end of Chapter One/beginning of Chapter Two, I should've at least mentioned an extra couple of things. (o.o) I hoped this chapter made some more sense into that and the 'Sauron-Morgoth-Must-Not-Know-Her-Existence' front~ :3 With Ancalagon saving Felicity from Corulagon, I did, in fact, originally plan for there to be biting, clawing, smashing, and some bone-breaking . . . I have no idea what happened . . . But I decided that at that moment, Felicity's welfare was Ancalagon's top priority; and therefore, the black dragon would want to shoo the other two away as quickly as possible~ :) Anyways: THANK YOU VERY MUCH~! And I hope you have a lovely day~! \\(*-*)/

**Guest:** Thanks~! Hope you liked this one~ =D

**The Guest:** Thank you very much~ I'm glad you like it~! \\(*-*)/

**Guest:** Your review made me smile so widely and I found it encouraging. x) Thank you so much for it, and for your compliments~! =D I totally agree with you on the grammatical and basic storyline standards; I mean, a person can have awesome ideas, but without at least the basic stuff, the story won't be as good as it would have been otherwise. (And yes, I also wish that there were a lot more dragon-focused stories xD). Thanks again, and I hope you have a good day~! :D

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	7. Angband

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*** Note I – A big thank you to those favoring, following and reviewing my fanfic; it really makes me happyyy~ =') You people are awesome, and I hope you enjoy this next chapter~! =D ***

*** Note II – Disclaimer: I obviously do not own the too-awesome-for-words Tolkien Universe. I own my OCs and my imagination~ :3 ***

*** Note III – Didn't mean to take slightly over a month to updateses – I'm sorries~ *puppy dog eyes and pouts* Lately, I've been busy and so tired for some inexplicable reason . . . And I've been focusing on math. Math is easy, but the amount of questions being given are so time-consuming! Dxxx ***

*** Note IV – HOBBIT PART THREE TRAILER~! (~*O*)~ What was your favorite part~? (Personally, I cannot decide . . . SO. MANY. FEELS. But I did some hardcore swooning at Thranduil and the other elves in armour . . .) ;D x333 ***

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**~ 006 – Angband ~**

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"Danger followed in his wake . . . Followed, because it wouldn't dare get in his way."

~ Larissa Ione, _Pleasure Unbound_

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… _Five Months Later – First Age 541_ …

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Despite it being around the first week of February, there was no snow at Angband, nor was there any within its' surrounding areas. Depending on where one was, the area was either warm or hot – or violently scorching the closer one was to Thangorodrim.

Ancalagon lounged atop one of the cliffs of the Iron Mountains as he observed a sleeping Felicity. This cliff oversaw one of the three volcanic mountains. He was both pained and angered that she was chained – albeit he could not deny the fact that being chained was significantly better than an instant death sentence. This was especially so if said death sentence would have been delivered by Sauron, for his were severe and torturous.

A metallic collar shined silver, and it was locked firmly around the base of the lavender-scaled dragonling's neck. A long and sturdy chain stretched across the black-brown mountain's plains; the end of it was lodged somewhere against one of the mountain's walls.

Felicity was curled up like a cat; and even as she slept, Ancalagon could sense the distress within her. He nuzzled her with his snout and then he gave her an affectionate lick.

"Ancalagon."

The black dragon rose his head to look behind him, and after he did so, he rested it atop his forelimbs. His eyes were trained unto his tiny dragoness as he greeted his friend. "Saël."

Saël, a great dragon who was almost the size of Ancalagon, landed onto the cliff. Folding his wings, the newcomer sat up straight by the Lord of Dragons' belly-lounging form. Saël had a rather intriguing set of red scales: A ruby red that shone as if his body was embedded with an infinite amount of seductive rubies. His fiery golden eyes bore against the tiny, scaly ball of lavender that he has never seen before. "Is she the one you have adopted?"

"She is _mine_," Ancalagon grumbled as though the thought of her being adopted was blasphemous.

Saël's eyes vaguely narrowed. "Why would you choose someone like her? She could be a threat –"

"How is she a threat when she is chained?" The ebony black dragon snapped bitterly. "Saël, you have a son: Smaug. You know how one feels when one has a child. Do you not think me capable enough because I never took a mate; because I am very focused on my duties as one of Lord Morgoth's lieutenants?"

The ruby red-scaled dragon was slightly taken aback and his following words were spoken firmly, but delicately. "No . . . It has . . . Never happened before amongst dragons where we take in a lost child and raise it as if it were our own."

"Well, maybe that needs to change."

"How can you have such a bond when she is not your flesh and blood?"

"I do not know; but that does not matter. The more time Felicity and I spend together, the stronger our bond grows. We can even communicate with each other through our minds. . ." These last few words were spoken rather softly before Ancalagon rose his head and fixated the fiery golden-eyed dragon with hard, commanding eyes. "I will not stand for this again – You will never again ask nor speak of anything relating to this conversation."

With his expression unreadable, Saël procured a polite nod of his head before spreading his large wings and taking flight. "Very well."

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* * *

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I wake up to something warm against my body, and gazing upwards, I see Dad's captivating ruby-red eyes. His slender pupils that previously gazed into the distance now fixate to me. He lifts his head slightly. "And how are you this day?"

I blink thrice and shrug. "I'm managing; though, that nap was lovely."

His reply is immediate, accompanied with a regretful undertone; and for the nth time, he apologizes. "Felicity, I am so sorry. I am in deep regret that you are in this situation –"

"You are not to blame!" I raise my voice in a reassuring tone. "Sauron unexpectedly finding me was not your fault."

"Even so, as your father, I should have been there. I would've been able to sense him and then hide you somewhere."

I gaze at Ancalagon kindly. "That day was bound to have come, sooner or later. Please don't blame yourself. . ."

He simply sighs and closes his eyes, and then he opens them five silent minutes later. "I've been wanting to tell you something."

That piques my interest as I sit up straight. "Yes?"

"Do you remember when I told you about that day I realised that I have a mind of my own and that I have been 'released' from total, puppet-like control? And then, Melkor's hold on me dimmed a little by each passing year?"

"Yes. Did something happen?" For a moment, I am concerned; however, what Ancalagon says next fills me with complete joy for him.

His face looks to be filled with mirth. "Only recently, I have realized that I am 'free.' I no longer hear Melkor's voice in my head; I no longer feel as though I am a walking corpse, wanting desperately to be released from such horrible energies and sullied magic. I do not feel . . . Bound."

Honestly, I am so happy for him. That means he could devise a way to "slip away" and fight against Morgoth during the upcoming War of Wrath . . . Or something. And if that does happen, Eärendil the Mariner wouldn't kill him! But then again, how does one persuade the elves – the Valar no less – that one of the greatest creations of Morgoth is now moral and honourable?

And then a thought comes to mind. "Does Morgoth know? I would be surprised if he didn't realize."

Ancalagon's eyes flash with irritation. "He knows; he spoke to me last week, actually. Yet, he is not doing anything about it, so long as I continue to serve him."

"I don't know; that sounds suspicious."

"My sentiments exactly."

I scratch my itchy nose, and I wonder if there are any others who have been "freed." For sure I know that Jura's so close to that "release." He told me recently that Corulagon had already experienced the "realization" about a month ago, and apparently, he wasn't – and still is – not taking it very well. I can picture that, though. As he is more violent, sardonic, and dramatic than Jura, Corulagon's probably throwing countless tantrums.

He and Thranduil should have a diva battle in the future. I am not joking.

. . . Pffttt . . . And I think of myself during my horrendous period cramps in my past life for a moment.

Ancalagon and I are talking and he informs me of a plan in the making. He has an insatiable desire to destroy Morgoth. Jura wants to destroy Morgoth (Coru-Coru's views are somewhat invalid. I've been told that at the moment, he wants to kill everyone. Wow, drama queen)! Any other dragon who _may_ end up freeing themselves from the Ainu's control will want to rid his forces.

Anyways, Dad plans on paying a visit to the young High King of the Noldor, Ereinion Gil-Galad. That is, as soon as he is granted the chance to.

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I am sooooo bored! Stupid chain; there is nowhere I can run off to. . .

I blame Sauron, that son of a tart. I blame my soul for somehow hopping from Earth to Arda.

Seriously, how does that happen?!

The chain rattles as I take slow steps towards the cliff; and I plop onto my bottom as I simply stare at one of the Thangorodrim. I notice that there are a few rusty chains and cuffs here and there that are embedded into the volcanic mountain. What's nasty is that those chains are holding dead prisoners in various stages of decomposition. And I think one of them has his intestines drooping out of his stomach. I shudder and swallow some acidy bile. Why am I looking at this?!

I manage to make out a specific set of cuffs with nothing in them, except for a skeletal right hand. Upon seeing that, I cannot help but knowingly smirk as I briefly think of that redheaded elf . . . Uhhh . . . Maedhros, I believe.

Tearing my eyes away and gluing them to the ashy, cloudy sky, my mind randomly ponders. In two weeks, on the twentieth of March, I turn eighteen. Well, this is depressing: I will have been considered an adult by then! But noooo! I am a dragon (not that I'm complaining anymore) and I have to wait until I'm two hundred years old!

I then give more thought into the secondary form because I cannot decide whether to be an elf or a human. I wouldn't want to be an animal; I mean, yes, there are certain advantages such as pooping wherever the hell I want and not being a target for suspicion like one would if they are a humanoid . . . But then I wouldn't be able to learn some badass sword fighting. And I don't want to be mistaken for food.

I remember that back on Earth, I said that if I was born in the Tolkien Universe, I would love to be an elf. However, now that I am a dragon who can choose another secretive form at one hundred years old, I cannot help but desire a human form. A human because I miss home and I want to stay connected to it somehow – yet I know it's futile. Earth is in the past and Middle-Earth is both the now and the future.

I want Mom . . . I know being killed unexpectedly like that was not my choice, but I still feel 'responsible' in way. I mean, I haven't seen Mom all day that day; so I could only imagine the extreme upset my death has left her with.

"Felicity!"

I hear someone holler my name, but I ignore it. Rude, I know.

"Lavender Scales!"

That voice now came from right beside me and I look to my left, only to come face-to-face with a familiar crimson-scaled dragon. "I'm surprised that you remember my name despite that we only met once five months ago, Smaug."

The dragon smirks, and his eyes always seem to hold sass and mischief. "It is not easy forgetting a feisty dragoness – especially one who gave me a most impressive, vicious tackle!"

Suddenly releasing a snort, I end up laughing. "You deserved it!"

"Shut it. . ." Smaug grumbles and tail-flicks my side. "I actually had a limp for the next three days!"

I am _very_ amused, here. "Well, that's what you get for flicking my ass," I state matter-of-factly as I return the flicking of my tail against his side. "So what are you doing here?"

Smaug fake-pouts before procuring an unreadable smirk. "So mean! You make it sound like you don't want me here."

Rolling my eyes, I respond whilst holding back a snicker. "Well . . . I will welcome your company if you stop flicking your tail against me. So what brings you over here?"

"Fair enough," he replies instantly as he fixates me with fiery golden eyes that flash with both pleasure and impishness. I have no idea why he agreed so quickly . . . But he's cheeky; I will have to keep both eyes on him. He replies to my previous question: "I was simply exploring due to boredom, when I came across your chain embedded into that wall over there."

I sneeze – it's really dusty here. "I see. Well, it was nice seeing you again!"

"Wait, are you brushing me off?" Smaug asks, his scorching orbs still swimming with amusement. "Because you know that will not so easily happen."

Damn.

"It just may," I sing-song playfully whilst turning my back on him – something I regret instantly as I feel his tail flicking my back. I knew it!

Growling (I still feel unnatural doing that), I spin around and tackle Smaug. We end up wrestling for a few minutes, and the cheeky dragon is clearly having too much fun here. Albeit, I cannot entirely deny that I am entertained by this.

Smaug now holds me down, and his face is close to mine. Unfortunately, my body's in an awkward position and the stupid collar around my neck proceeds to choke me. "Smaug . . . Off . . . C-collar!"

Blinking, the crimson dragon scrambles off. "Why are you even chained?" he asks incredulously.

Rolling over to my belly and sitting upright, I answer with a shrug. "Stupid Morgoth doesn't like me."

Smaug sniggers. "And why is that?"

And then I avoid sharing the truth: "No idea." Of course I know, but I do not want to risk my "story" being shared with everyone else! Sorry, Smaug.

"All right, then," the young dragon before me brushes off my answer a little too quickly. Does he secretly know that I just lied? "I've been meaning to ask you about your name. . ."

I stare at him, unimpressed. "What about it?"

"It's human, and yet you are a dragon."

Ahhhh . . . How do I answer this? Because I remember Jura informing me once that dragons only give their offspring 'dragon-like' names; and some may give their children a Quenya, or even a Valarin, name. I open my mouth to answer, but I'm interrupted.

"Smaug?" A gentle, though firm, feminine voice is heard as a large adult dragoness appears before the two of us. Oh my goodness, she is so beautiful! Her scales are white; a snowy ivory, and even though there is no sunlight, they shine brightly. Her fiery golden eyes resemble Smaug's, only hers seem to prove a most excellent contrast against the colour of her scales. The dragoness has muscle, but she is slender and is not as solidly muscular as the male dragons.

"Mother, do you need me for something?" Smaug asks in a polite tone. She is his mother?! Well, I do see the resemblance of both of their eyes . . . His courteous tone surprises me; but then again, she's his mother, and not some random dragoness who is three years younger than him.

"Your father wishes to see you," the rather enchanting dragoness replies. I turn my head away as they then proceed to share a touching, fluffy moment.

I think of my mother back on Earth, and I cast my silvery eyes towards the dark, dusty ground.

Smaug and I share a temporary farewell; and as we did so, his mother peers at me curiously. I don't know why, but something tells me that I'll be receiving an eventual visit from her in the future.

As soon as they leave, I lay on the ground whilst staring longingly at the dark clouds. I allow for a few tears to escape my eyes because I am really craving for my mother.

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* * *

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The white and navy blue gossamer curtains fumbled gently in the cool, damp early March breeze. As the sun only began to show itself to the world, the shadowy study contained a feint yellow-orange golden glow.

Ereinion Gil-Galad knew something was "off" the moment he entered his study. The curtains were moved, and some were bunched up, unlike how they were last evening. Shutting the door behind him, the young High King of the Noldor whipped out his elegantly designed, curved elven sword and pivoted to his left side; only to have seen another sword clang against his.

His ludicrously beautiful, crystal blue eyes perceived a figure that was half-covered by shadow and half-exposed by the pale golden light that crept through the windows. The figure was tall, armoured and carried twin blades; an ellon of the Noldor with ruby-like red eyes and hip-length black, ebony hair. . .

Wait, _red_ eyes? The young king peered intently into them. "Who are you?"

"Ancalion," the newcomer replied smoothly and calmly. "I have come to speak with you."

Gil-Galad procured an irritated half smirk as his grip on his lovely sword tightened. "A failed attempt at lying, dragon; now who are you really?"

Amusement danced within the captivating eyes of the dragon in his secondary form. He respectfully bowed. "Ancalagon, Aran nîn."

"Were you sent by Morgoth?" The ellon did not know what to think; but the freaking Lord of Dragons was in his study and he absolutely did not like that one bit. Gil-Galad knew that the other was a dragon after glaring into his eyes – Lord Círdan informed him on how to snuff one out. It was not easy, but one had to not only look into their eyes, but had to study them as well. Especially the pupil: It may seem rounded at first, but there were extremely subtle reptilian-like points.

"No, I came of my own accord – no one knows that I am here," Ancalagon replied as he lowered his sword and fastened it into the sheath on his back. "I have come to negotiate . . . A truce, so to speak."

Keeping his expression unreadable, hard and neutral; the waist-length raven black-haired Noldo lowered his blade, albeit he kept his strong grip around the hilt. Despite that, his next words were edged with a sardonic tone. "Amuse me. And would you like a seat?"

"No thank you; I do not expect to stay here for long," the elf-dragon replied with a smirk before clearing his throat and loosely crossing his arms. Then he delivered a brief explanation about how a few of his dragons were undergoing some changes, and of how they express desires to rid the world of Melkor and his forces. Ancalagon even shared that he was completely "free" from the control of the ex-Vala. "And so I wish to combine forces with you; with the Valar, in destroying him. Are you amused now?"

Gil-Galad glared incredulously at him. "I know not whether to believe you, or to kill you for lying. Such a lie is perilous."

Ancalagon bitterly chuckled and he shrugged his shoulders in a very carefree manner. "You wouldn't kill me. Because if you tried to, I _will_ fight back; and that will endanger the lives of those currently within this great fortress."

Something seemed to have snapped within the Noldo. "I will not form an agreement with a dragon!"

"War is coming and I am offering you my assistance!" Ancalagon returned the yell. "I do not expect you to believe me now, and I know that it is not _your_ truth; but it is _my_ truth and I will not just simply brush this matter aside if I were you."

Gil-Galad inaudibly sighed before returning his facial expression to one of hardness and unreadability. "Leave now, if you will."

After a silent ten seconds, Ancalagon strolled to the window and pulled back a soft, navy blue curtain. Procuring a suspiciously determined grin, he called, "Namárië, Aran nîn!" before leaping over the ledge.

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* * *

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"Oh my . . . What an adorable little dragoness!"

That voice is deep and husky that is accompanied with a sinister undertone.

I have been napping, though now I scramble to my all-fours with my chain clanging loudly at my sudden movement. I gaze upwards at a large dragon before me who has an interesting set of black scales with some dark red jagged lines here and there (they look like scars, in a way). His gaze makes me troubled and my muscles tense as he peers at me with the most blackest of eyes that I have ever seen. They can easily be perceived as orbs of an abyss of never ending darkness; a black hole.

He lowers his head towards me, and I shy away. "Awww, don't be shy – I will not hurt you! Well . . . I do not _think_ I will. . ."

My eyes almost pop out of my head as he mentions that last bit.

He releases a sickening gleeful laugh as he stalks closer to me. "I make no guarantees . . . Oh, damn." He pokes the metallic collar around my neck with the claw on his index finger. "That chain is enticing; it simply makes me want to play with you. To hear your screams as I –"

"SCATHA!"

A flash of panic shines within the eyes of the dragon before me as soon as that sudden, powerful roar resonates within the vicinity. He composes himself and takes a few steps back as a familiar dragon with yellow-golden eyes and pale green scales stomps his way over here.

Scatha's voice is calm and amused . . . I personally deduce that he is like the dragon version of Sauron. "Corulagon, is something the matter?"

Coru-Coru (wow, it kind of feels weird seeing him after two months of not being around him) narrows his eyes and snaps at the other. "Leave. Now."

"Awww, I simply wanted some fun –"

"You will step away from her; from this mountain!" Corulagon snarls with such a ferocity – I am glad that it is not directed at me.

Scatha returns the deep growl, losing his façade of innocence. "I think not!" He stalks closer. "What have I to lose?"

The pale green dragon slams one of his forefeet in front of me; both startling me as I let out a squeak, and blocking my body from the eyes of this newcomer. "Your head. Ancalagon will not appreciate it. He can easily tear it from your body with one chomp of his jaws."

"Oh, so she is Ancalagon's!" Scatha exclaims in realization, albeit he didn't hesitate in speaking my father's name with such malice and scorn. And then he speaks the next sentence with sadistic bitterness. "Yes, well, I of all dragons should know what one receives when they . . . _Play_ with Ancalagon's property."

I AM NOT PROPERTY, YOU ASS!

Peering from behind Corulagon's leg, I realize that those red jagged lines are, in fact, scars. Deep scars. I have no idea why I didn't notice it until now, but at first glance, those scars actually look like messy tribal patterns. And then I notice one very long (and wide) scar embedded into his underbelly that stretched from the base of Scatha's neck to the base of his tail.

That looks reaaaaaallyyyyyyy painful . . . Did Ancalagon do that?

Coru-Coru's sardonically smirking as Scatha reluctantly flies away; although, not before the scarred dragon delivers me a sickening grin. He's planning something. . .

And after he leaves, Corulagon steps away from me and lounges onto his belly by the cliff with his forefeet dangling off of the ledge. Nervously, I step a little closer to him. "Thank you for coming –"

"I am not doing this for you; I'm doing this for Ancalagon," the diva-dragon snaps strongly at me without even sparing a glance. To be honest, that hurt; I feel as though I was just stabbed in the gut. A tear pricks one corner of my left eye. But seriously, I should have expected that kind of answer from him.

Smiling bitterly, I take a few steps back. "I know," I reply almost inaudibly as I curl up in a ball onto the hard ground. I fold one of my lavender wings over my head to block my vision.

Although I do wonder: What happened between Dad and Scatha?

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Aran Nîn – My King – (Sindarin)

Namárië – Farewell – (Quenya)

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*** After Note I – Feel free to drop a review and let me know what you think~! :D ***

*** After Note II – Yah, for some reason, I've always thought Scatha to be like a dragon version of Sauron . . . Personality-wise, that it . . . (O.o) ***

...

**nomnomfox:** Thank you so much for liking the story, and for your compliments~! \\(*–*)/ I would have to agree with you on your first sentence – I've only come across a few of those fics; though so far, only one has caught my one hundred percent attention~ (._. ) Thanks again, and I hope you have a lovely day~ Adios~! :D

**Guest:** Thank you very much, and I appreciate your honesty~! =D She will, in fact, soon adopt a "dragon" name (I coincidently just concocted a name, a few minutes prior reading your review). x3 She won't be able to save Ancalagon physically – she'll give him a warning . . . And stuff . . . And he's gonna have to take the initiative~ o.o Hope you have a good day~! :D

**Person:** Thank you very much~! \\(^-^)/ Hope you have a good day~ =D

**The Random Guest:** Thank you so much~! =D LOL, yes: Cheeky Smaug would get his ass kicked the more he pesters Felicity~ x) You're welcome; glad to boost up the dreariness! Coincidently, your review boosted up the dreariness of my day, as well~ x333 Hope thou hast a lovely day~ Adios~! :D

**Guest:** Thank you~! :D Hoped you liked this one; and I wish you a good day~! *0*

**Guest:** Thanks~! :3 Hoped you liked this one; and I wish you a good day~! *O*

**Rayne:** Thank you very much~! \\(*-*)/ LOL, yes – glad you find their relationship interesting~ x3 And I'm glad you like the longer chapters, too (to be honest, I really do prefer writing longer chapters). x) To your question, I would say that Smaug is too "young" to read auras/sense energies. As of yet, he doesn't know that she's different; however, the fact that she has a human name kind of puzzles him . . . ;D Hope you have a good day~! =D

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	8. Interesting Changes

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*** Note I – A big thank you to those favoring, following and reviewing my fanfic; it really makes me happyyy~ =') You people are awesome, and I hope you enjoy this next chapter~! =D ***

*** Note II – Disclaimer: I obviously do not own the too-awesome-for-words Tolkien Universe. I own my OCs and my imagination~ :3 ***

*** Note III – Sincere apologies for the _late_ update. Firstly, I've been very tired whilst dealing with the ever time-consuming math and a very involved drama assignment. Lately I've been busying myself with family-time and friends-time (I hope y'all had a lovely Christmas! :D); and I've finally un-lazed myself and re-continued my artworks~ ANYWAYS, since it's almost January: HAPPY EARLY NEW YEAR'S~! \\(*O*)/ ***

***** Note IV – Mini warning: Torture ahoy~! And mentions of rape . . . (O.O) *****

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**~ 007 – Interesting Changes ~**

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"Never forget what you are, for surely the world will not. Make it your strength. Then it can never be your weakness. Armour yourself in it, and it will never be used to hurt you."

~ George R.R. Martin, _A Game of Thrones_ (Tyrion Lannister)

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* * *

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_Felicity, are you awake_? _Please tell me that you are not hurt_?

Ancalagon's concerned, panicked voice resonates within my head through what the elves call, 'ósanwe' – a kind of mental communication (and I think thought-reading, too) between those with strong bonds.

I lift my lavender wing from my head, noticing that Coru-Coru is gone and my dad is right in front of me. Huh . . . I guess I did fall asleep for a moment. . .

_I'm fine_, I mentally respond whilst yawning and rising to lay on my belly.

The black dragon pokes my body with his snout. "Are you sure? Corulagon told me what happened – thank the Valar that he came in time!" His eyes dart all over my body in search for any injuries.

Rising to my feet, I reassuringly pet his muzzle. "I swear I'm alright!" A little chuckle escapes my mouth. "As you've said, Coru literally came just in time. But what is Scatha's beef with you?"

Dad's eyes flash with puzzlement. "Why would he have beef with me? I never share my food with anyone, unless it's you."

I laugh so hard at that answer that my stomach hurts within thirty seconds. "Sorry! I-I meant –!" Rolling on the floor trying to calm down, I feel my chain awkwardly wrapping around my body and wings.

"Alright, my strange little one," Ancalagon speaks in slight exasperation. "Stop tangling yourself!"

Now being reduced to giggles, I attempt to stand. "I can't move my legs!"

"Obviously." He rolls his eyes that sparkle with the desire to laugh. "The chain is wrapped tightly around your whole being."

I groan helplessly. "Help?"

"Roll to the left." I do that once and the chain becomes a little tighter. "Ah, sorry. That was my left; I meant your left." The chain loosens a tiny bit as I do that.

"Now roll to the right. Now roll left t – too much rolling to the left! You were to roll to the left twice – now you have to roll back to the right!"

And this goes on for . . . Twenty minutes. At the end of it all, I'm really dizzy and Dad's having his share of chuckles. He is the first to speak: "Anyway, what were you going to ask?"

"Oh, it was about Scatha. He speaks your name with such scorn and malice . . . Did something happen between the two of you? Where you the one who gave him that rather interesting array of scars?"

Ancalagon's face morphs into an automatic blank; and his eyes instantly show no sign of previous laughter, but wrath and hurt. There is an awkward silence. "Or if it's too uncomfortable or private for you, don't answer," I hastily add; honestly concerned for his sudden change of demeanor.

"It is . . . Alright," he drawls out. "We are close; we are family and you have had the misfortune of meeting him. I should tell you want he is like; but first, I will talk about someone else."

Oh? I sit up straight, listening to him intently as he then speaks with longing and love. Love?

"Her name was 'Anara.' We met many moons ago, arguing over a large, dead cow and claiming that we both saw it first. That argument led to future arguments; leading to a surprising friendship; and then, romantic feelings began to emerge." He sighs lovingly and I cannot help but smile. "Anara was so beautiful! She was adventurous and witty, but had a natural kindness. Her energy calmed me at times, yet it aroused me at others. She donned such luscious, glossy black scales that shined an almost sapphire-like blue when light bounced off of her. Her eyes were a seductive, yet tranquil violet."

"And you love her deeply," I conclude, feeling all warm and fuzzy on the inside.

. . . And then I just realize the following: He spoke in past tense. "She died, then?" I automatically assume. "And Scatha was a part in that?"

Ancalagon nods his head twice before his eyes harden. "There is a reason why Scatha is Mairon's favorite dragon. Scatha is very unpredictable, deceptive and diabolical. Unless you are like him, you do not associate with him; you do not make any agreements with him; you do not talk to him at all; you do not even make eye contact with him, alright? Do you understand?" His ruby red orbs feel as though they burn into my soul.

"Yes, yes!" I manage to breathe out; as it seems that I had just held in my breath without realizing it.

He takes a deep breath. "I shall continue on with the second half: One day, Anara decided that I was the one she desired to mate with and be bonded with for eternity. I, too, shared the desire; however, Melkor gave me an assignment to do, and Anara and I chose to copulate afterwards."

I have a feeling where this is going. "Let me guess: Scatha loved her, too?"

He scoffed. "It was this twisted thing called 'obsession being mistaken for love.'"

I cringe, horrified. That's even worse!

"He took her by force, driven by his lust and obsession; and then he murdered her. And I knew that he raped her because when I came to our planned meeting place and gazed at Anara's bloodied body, Scatha's scent was on her. Her sex was bloodied and torn; and although dried, her thighs and the ground were splattered with his seed."

I honestly have no words to say. From the way his eyes appear to me – and the deeps waves of sorrow and wrath that I can internally feel from him – I can tell that this incident both emotionally and psychologically broke him.

"And then you gave him those scars?" I conclude, thinking of those infinite and horrendous jagged lines.

"I gifted him with his first and only near-death experience. It brought such pleasure to my ears to hear the coward's uncontrolled screams, and I _enjoyed_ every fucking second of it."

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* * *

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"Ancalagon, I want to apologize."

From his lounging position atop a jagged mountain cliff, Ancalagon turned his head to the left. "Whatever for?" he asked Saël; who now sat by his side.

Saël's ruby red scales glimmered richly. "My words regarding your adop–your only daughter. I understand that you love her, and I shouldn't have tried to question that. I was only worried for you."

"Your concern is much appreciated and I accept your apology." Ancalagon eyed his childhood friend with a certain friendliness. He and Saël were close; albeit, they were much closer when they were younger. They were troublemakers in their youth, which led to poor Glaurung having to spend at least an hour a day of his precious time to reprimand them. Neither of them had parents, as they were created; which was why they both cherished parental responsibilities, and was also why they were envious of those who were actually _born_.

Born with love and not created as destructive weapons.

It was Saël's incessant snickering that brought the Lord of Dragons out of his reminiscing. "And just what is so funny?" the latter asked in comical inkling.

"A past memory had suddenly popped into my head. I don't know why. . ."

"Which one?"

Calming his sniggers, Saël fixated his friend with fiery golden eyes of mischief. "Do you remember that time when we 'accidently' set both Melkor's and Mairon's robes on fire?"

Ancalagon gaped before shaking his head and joining the other in laughter. "Ah yes: The absolute joy it was for a pair of one-year-old dragonlings to discover fire for the first time . . . Those were the days!"

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My eyes are filled with beautiful, snowy ivory scales as a dragoness gracefully lands before me. I recognize her to be Smaug's mother. "Hello!" I greet cordially. "I'm Felicity. Thought that I'd introduce myself now since we didn't the last time."

Her fiery golden eyes gaze at me with satisfaction. "A polite little one! I am pleased. You can call me 'Karia.' And I already know your name – Smaug talks of you a lot."

Random thought here: I just realized that Karia's voice almost sounds like Cersei Lannister's voice from the _Game of Thrones_ TV series . . . Is it wrong to think that? And wait . . . Did she just say . . . ?

"He talks about me a lot? Why? How does he talk of me a lot?" I squint disbelievingly up towards the older dragoness.

She giggles. "He values the relationship he has with you. Are you two not friends?"

I think for what feels to me one minute because I honestly don't know. But I answer her as truthfully as I can. "We are acquaintances; although, I can see friendship as a future possibility. . ."

Karia hums, her tone still lighthearted, albeit accompanied with an undertone of seriousness. "And that is fine. But please, do not further it into something more."

"You mean liking someone in the romantic way?" She nods her head once and I continue. "Trust me, it _won't happen_. I cannot, at all, see that happening. It just won't. You don't need to worry." But why is she wanting my clarification this?

"Please understand this. Make sure it only ascends to friendship and nothing more. You are an enemy, according to those chains; and I do not want to see my son hurt."

Karia flies away in the literal blink of an eye . . . Before I can even respond.

Me actually developing romantic feelings towards Smaug? I really, absolutely _cannot_ see that happening!

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* * *

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"Laaaaaavender Scaaaaaales!"

From my lounging position right against the wall of the dark mountain, I groan at the familiar sing-songing voice. My eyelids are shut tightly as I attempt to fall into a deep slumber.

"Laaaaaavender Scaaaaaales!"

He's coming closer . . . And quit calling me 'Lavender Scales!' Only Corulagon calls me that; and I'd rather one does so than two!

"Laaaaaavender Scaaaaaales!"

Three, two, one –

"FELICITY!"

I yelp and jump violently. "Oh motherfucking shit of cunts and dicks! I did not expect you to shout right in my damn ear!"

Much to my irritancy, Smaug laughs. And laughs. He tumbles onto the ground and continues laughing. And I glare at him with such lividness in my silvery eyes.

"Why are you even here?!" I ask him as he continues laughing. Seriously, though. Stop. Laughing. NOW. And then for some unknown reason, I leap into the air and land atop his back and folded wings.

He finally ceases his laughter and sighs mirthfully, relaxing onto the ground. "My apologies," he says, clearly in a good mood. "I won't shout into your ear again."

I relax onto his back. "Thank you," I gratefully mumble as I let my head rest against his shoulder blades. Mentally, I secretly marvel at the feeling of his muscles beneath me; at how surprisingly firm they are despite him being only twenty or twenty-one years old . . . But then again, he is a male dragon. "By the way, are you alright?"

He yawns. "Whatever do you mean?"

"You're allowing me to lay on top of you. Before, you would shake me off rudely, or tail-flick me."

"Ah, yes. . ." he laughs briefly, accompanied with a hint of nervousness. "Last time you said that you would welcome my company if I stopped flicking my tail against you. And . . . I would like us to become friends."

Procuring a small smile, I (without really thinking) gently nuzzle the side of my face against the top of his shoulder. "Then friends we shall become," I say gently as we simultaneously close our eyes and nap in our current positions.

Smaug, you make a very nice, comfy pillow.

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* * *

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Ereinion Gil-Galad turned on his heel to face the elf-sentinel who called out to him from the end of the brightly lit hallway.

"Aran nîn," the ellon greeted politely as he saluted his king. He then turned to the older elf who stood by the king, Lord Círdan, and procured a respectful nod. "Hîr vuin. There are –" The sentinel looked to be distressed; however, he cleared his throat and took a quick, deep breath. "Ancalagon the Black requests for your presence. He waits at the front with a companion."

The young High King of the Noldor gritted his teeth; albeit, he succeeded in making sure that his annoyance and anger did not physically surface. _First he comes secretly to my study; and now he appears out in the open where everyone can see him_! _And with a companion, no less_! _Who does he think he is_?

Círdan turned towards the raven black-haired king once the sentinel left them. "Well? Are we not going?"

"They are dragons," Gil-Galad drawled out menacingly. He felt as though he needed to murder someone. Disembowelment sounded lovely at the moment.

"And the Lord of Dragons requests an audience with the Elvenking," the silver-white bearded elf-lord spoke with a hint of force within his tone. "Personal feelings should hold no dominance for something that requires complete professionalism."

…

At the maritime stronghold city in the Mouths of Sirion, one dragon waited with a regal calmness and the other stood with unreadable anxiety. They stood within the spacious courtyard that was in front of the main fortress; and the calm, fresh spring breeze did little to soothe the slightly anxious dragon.

"Ancalagon," Jura quietly called out to his companion; who stood a few centimetres in front of him, diagonally. "They are pointing their arrows at us. . ." His light blue orbs scanned the elves (and men) that surrounded them with their weapons in hand.

"Yes, Jura; I can see that," Ancalagon replied in a bored tone.

The younger dragon eyed the giant crossbows that were situated atop walls and towers. "Their ballistae are –"

"Yes, I have eyes, too. Relax," the ebony dragon chucked; earning him a glare to the back of his head from Jura.

They waited for an additional six minutes before two ellyn emerged from the doors of the fortress' main entrance. "Aran nîn," Ancalagon greeted, with naught but a hint of amusement within his seductive ruby red eyes. "Elen síla lúmenn' omentielvo."

Gil-Galad's crystal blue eyes were glued onto the majestic draconic form of the black creature. He briefly scanned the chocolate brown dragon before immediately returning his gaze towards Ancalagon. "Aiya, good dragon. Do come inside – your companion is to wait where he stands."

Jura groaned. Smirking at his friend's discomfort, Ancalagon shrunk and morphed into his elven form; and as he did that, everyone within the courtyard – and surrounding walls and towers – watched with awe and uncertainty. They vaguely fidgeted and shifted their weight from one foot to the other. Ancalagon then sauntered up the white-stoned steps, following Gil-Galad into the fortress.

"Captain!" Círdan called out towards a dark-haired ellon, who stood by the base of the steps. Said ellon turned. "Have them lower their weapons." The elf-lord turned and walked to accompany the king and the elf-dragon.

And reluctantly, the rather very attractive captain repeated the order. Jura sighed in relief.

…

"And so what did he say?" Jura asked his silent confidant as they flew through the skies. They have just passed the borders of the stronghold city.

Ancalagon inaudibly sighed. "To be blunt: No alliance . . . At least, not yet. Unlike his brash answer from when I came here on my own; this time, he will consider it seriously."

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* * *

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"Alright. I'll fess up."

Smaug tilts his head to the side at my use of modern Earthly lingo, blinking. And I must confess: He does look rather adorable when he does that. "What?"

"I'll tell you why I have a human name."

"Finally! My annoying you seems to have paid off, then!" he sniggers before fixating me with a smug smirk.

I roll my eyes and comically scoff; and then I scratch just below my damned collar. "Don't be too full of yourself!" Lowering my voice slightly, I continue: "I will warn you though – you may not believe me."

Interest flashes within his fiery golden orbs. "Oh? Try me."

So sure of yourself, are we? My response is slow, the tone of my voice sounding as though even I'm not sure of what I am saying. "Eh . . . My name is as it is because . . . I used to be . . . Human."

Before me, Smaug cocks his head to the side and blinks. GAAHHH, HE'S SO CUTE WHEN HE DOES THAT! "So something like magic – or dark magic – somehow turned you into a dragon?"

This is harder than I thought . . . Okay, Felicity. Relax!

If I were human, I'd be sweating. I exhale, which soothes my mind a little. "Kind of, but not entirely a solid 'yes.' I, uh, was a human in a different world known as 'Earth' – it is similar to this world, but also very different. I unexpectedly died; and when I woke up in the lower Ered Wethrin, I realized that I was a dragon. I honestly don't know how a spirit can hop from one world to another. . ."

A little nervous, I meet his eyes. He procures a small, entertained smile. "That is quite a tale you have."

I speak my following words in a more forceful manner. I'm not really angry, I only sound it due to the fact that I am somewhat anxious. "You wanted an answer and I gave you my truthful one. It was what actually happened to me; and if you don't believe me, that's fine. But do spare me the honour of being called a 'liar' –"

"Whoa, calm down, there!" Smaug interrupts with a laugh as he leans forward and playfully bops his nose against mine. He then winks, and I blink thrice at that action. "When I said that, I didn't mean it to mock you. The Valar exist; elves are reborn in Valinor . . . I think . . . When they die; so, why not acknowledge the existence of different worlds?"

My skeptic eyes are glued into his. Honestly, I cannot believe how carefree his response just sounded. "Sooo . . . You _really_ believe me?"

"For the most part, yes," he responds instantly. And then the tone of his voice morphs into one of mirth. "Now, how different was this 'Earth' of yours?"

"Well, for starters, dragons don't exist outside of myths and stories –"

"WHAT?!" Smaug's eyes seem to pop out of his skull; and I cannot help but laugh, even though I'm pretty annoyed by the fact that he rudely interrupted me. "What fuckery is this?!"

"YOU ASKED, YOU RED CUNT! NOW, NO MORE INTERRUPTIONS!"

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* * *

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"Can I ask you something?"

Ancalagon turns his head and looks at me with one of his eyebrows raised. He is in his elven form for the moment, as he previously claimed that he wanted an excuse to comfortably lean against my body. He wears homely clothing rather than his usual armour and more elegant garb. Though, his twin swords lay by his side . . . He always seem to have them, everywhere he goes. "Of course."

"If that incident never happened to Anara, would you have been a mated pair by now?"

He procures a small smile on his handsome features. "Yes."

"Would the two of you already have a child?"

"I think . . . Yes, we would have."

"Let's think back to when you first found me. Would –?"

"Oh, my lovely daughter; I would have still treated you the way I do now," he interrupts gently as he turns his full body towards me; now sitting cross-legged. Placing his warm palm against the side of my muzzle, he leans forward and places a kiss to my forehead. "Only the difference, I daresay, would be that you would've had an older sibling. And a lovely mother; although, she would have chastised you a lot for your sarcasm, or whenever you use your Earth lingo."

I chuckle a bit and he pulls back. "I shall like to talk about names with you."

Titling my head to the side, I blink twice. "Names?"

Ancalagon nods. "Yes. You have been in this world for a little over a year; and you are a dragon. Of course, I shall only do so when given your permission."

Hmmmm, a new name . . . Honestly, I don't mind it. In fact, I rather enjoy this change. I will continue to miss my previous life, albeit I have already moved on. I cannot go back; so why should I immerse myself in the past when I endeavour to survive and live on? And I shall do so as a dragon; as a proud daughter of Ancalagon the Black.

Father seems to be reading my thoughts because he grins and talks before I indicate that he can rename me. "Anara and I both agreed that if we had a daughter, we would name her 'Kalasara.' What do you think?"

Softly, I repeat the name as though I am in a daze. "Kalasara."

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* * *

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"Ah, Ancalagon! 'Tis an honour to have you with us this evening."

Morgoth's voice resonated within the vast throne room of Angband as the Lord of Dragons strolled in upon request of the fallen Vala. There were Maiar, Valaraukar, and the higher-ranking of the orcs and trolls present. No other dragon was within the room, save for Scatha.

Now standing at the front of the crowd, Ancalagon eyed Sauron menacingly before gluing his ruby orbs towards the Vala. "'Tis an honour to be summoned, my lord," the dragon lord replied with a hint of sardonicism within his tone of voice. "Though I do wonder why that is so?"

"You have lost your touch, Beastie," the sing-song voice of Sauron echoed irritatingly into his ears. Oh Valar, how he wanted to stain the walls with that particular Maia's blood and splattered brains.

Albeit sustaining a neutrally unreadable facial expression, Morgoth's glowing, starry gold-and-blue eyes held glee and entertainment. "Ancalagon, I want you in your secondary form."

Puzzled as to why, Ancalagon morphed. He kept silent until he stood in his elven form. He crossed his arms loosely across his abdomen. "Is this an inspection of sorts?"

Morgoth stood from his throne; and he descended the steps until he reached the very bottom stair. "Strip yourself of your weapons, armour and tunic."

A flash of danger appeared within the Lord of Dragon's eyes. "I am to be tortured, then?"

"Yes. And you will comply; especially if you want me to guarantee the safety of your little 'Lavender Scales.'"

A deep growl emitted from the back of Ancalagon's throat. He unclasped his cloak as it then fell swiftly to the polished grey-black floors. "And why am I to endure such treatment?" He dropped his twin swords and long daggers onto the cloak; and he felt every eye in the room burning into his physical self.

"You do not produce the same desirable results as you did prior Gondolin's fall."

Vambraces, gloves and pauldrons fell into the pile.

"You are hesitant when attacking my enemy. You attack my orcs and trolls at random – they are _my_ property. You are not the one to decide their fates."

A chest plate clanged into the pile, and it was soon followed by the other pieces of armour.

"And I have heard something about attempting to secure an alliance with annoying little flies who dare to think that they can defeat me. Committing treason, are we?"

"I –"

"LYING WILL DO YOU NO GOOD!"

Ancalagon's dark red tunic was the last item to be tossed into the pile. Now only in his black breeches and boots, his eyes hardened like stones and he gritted his teeth. He wanted to know how the Dark Lord found that out.

A carefree laugh escaped Morgoth's lips as he now stood before the elf-dragon. "Oh, Ancalagon; how did it come to this?" He procured a small, malicious smile as he cupped the other's face. The Vala's thumb smoothed out the skin of Ancalagon's left cheek. "It is like I do not know you at all! I cannot read into you – I never know what you are thinking anymore! You are no longer _mine_. Mine to use; mine to control. . ."

Ancalagon felt revolted by the sudden touch; and his throat condensed slightly before he spat into Morgoth's face. The Vala released his grip with a scowl as Ancalagon opened his mouth with a smirk-like grin. "And how does it feel to know that one of your greatest creations – the strongest of dragons – no longer serves you? That he is no longer yours, _Melkor_? I cannot even imagine such a blow to your pride, your dignity, your –"

"Chain him to the post. And I want him to be facing me."

Ancalagon did not even bother to escape from the two Valaraukar, who did as their ruler commanded. The chains were long and the manacles were icy cold against his wrists. They had dried blood caked over them. The crowd made a commotion, as they enjoyed what was about to occur. Scatha and Sauron eyed their enemy with sadistic enjoyment.

After ascending the stairs and sitting atop the throne with one leg over the other, Morgoth briefly eyed the balrog to Ancalagon's right before he glued his orbs unto his precious dragon in elven form. "Thirty lashes will suffice for now. My dragon, I want you to count after every lash."

Standing proudly and refusing to kneel, Ancalagon flared his nostrils and delivered a snapping roar as the first lash came suddenly upon him. "One."

He had never been whipped before, and this sensation was very unpleasant. His body jerked as the next lash snapped against him. He snarled. "Two."

And after every crack of the whip, the excited cries of the crowd only seem to raise in volume.

"Ten."

His back felt hot. The blood cascaded all over his back from the long, sword-like wounds and he could see it dripping. And dripping. . .

"Fourteen."

A Balrog's whip was truly the worst whip of all. Not only was is fiery and had some sort of magic, it was demonic.

"Sixteen."

Fire cannot hurt a dragon. However, demon fire was different in certain ways. It was able to hurt adult dragons, even.

It was on his twentieth lash that Ancalagon finally released a gasp of pain. His legs betrayed him as he now kneeled with his face cast towards the floor. All he could smell was fire, torn flesh, and his own blood. He felt more of the thick liquid oozing out into the cold air and down his scorching hot back. The abuse hurt more than words can describe.

He pitied previous prisoners who have had the extreme misfortune of being whipped by one of the Valaraukar. They would have died within five to ten lashes.

Sauron's irritating voice rang into his ears like bells. "Ahh, he did not count that last one."

"A pity," Morgoth spoke with a sigh. "We were nearing the end of it, too. Restart the count."

Ancalagon's head snapped up and towards the Vala, whose grin displayed teeth that shone like knives. The Lord of Dragons braced himself for the incoming whip. So it seemed that instead of only receiving thirty lashes, he shall now receive fifty in total.

"_One_."

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As that incident occurred, Jura landed within the courtyard of the main fortress at the Mouths of Sirion. It was dawn and barely anyone was out, save for a few sentries. What the chocolate brown dragon did not expect, however, was that the young High King of the Noldor seemed to be waiting for him.

The ellon stood atop the stairs in his comfortable dark blue and silver robes; and he was flanked with two elf-guards. "Lord Ancalagon is not with you?"

"No, Aran nîn. He sent me – Morgoth has been keeping a closer eye on him."

A frown graced Gil-Galad's features for two seconds before his lips stabilized at neither smile nor frown. The tone in his voice, however, was almost lighthearted. "Then will you please inform him that I accept his alliance?"

Jura did a double-take in surprise. "Gladly," he replied before spreading his wings and taking off into the cool skies.

Gil-Galad had a ghost of a smile gracing his lips. "Come when you're ready."

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I have been eyeing Sauron the entire time he has been here. He had just unlocked the collar around my neck and I don't know why.

"My lord will allow for you to wander Angband freely," the Maia coos with a smile. He pats my head before turning away. I want to ask him why; however before I can open my mouth, he whirls around. His smile now looks dangerous and his eyes hold the desire to brutally slaughter someone.

I shiver – he looks like a damn psychotic serial killer.

"If you leave Angband, I will kill you. If you have anyone aid you, I will kill you both. If I catch you even voicing the desire to leave, _I will kill you and whoever else is with you_. Lord Morgoth's rule is absolute."

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Aran Nîn – My King – (Sindarin)

Hîr Vuin – My Lord (or) Beloved Lord – (Sindarin)

Elen Síla Lúmenn' Omentielvo – A Star Shines On The Hour Of Our Meeting – (Quenya)

Aiya – Hail – (Quenya)

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*** After Note I – Feel free to drop a review and let me know what you think~! :D ***

*** After Note II – The stuff about Scatha being Sauron's favorite dragon is bullshit to canon. It is something I've developed to suit this particular story~ \\(^–^)/ ***

*** After Note III – On Felicity's new name, Kalasara: The words I chose for her name actually came from a Skyrim dragon language website – I specifically chose words that could pass as being words from a Tolkien Universe language. 'Kaal' means 'Champion' and 'Laas' means 'Life.' Therefore, 'Kalas' can mean 'Life Champion,' 'Life's Champion,' 'Champion of Life,' or whatever~ The 'Ara' I added at the end was simply something to make her name sound more feminine~ However, 'Ara' is also Sindarin for 'Noble/Royal;' so it's up to you whether you read her name as 'Noble Life Champion,' or just 'Life Champion.' x) Anyways, you'll understand why Ancalagon gave her that name in the future when she's an adult and stuff~ (This just took me thirty seconds). ;D ***

...

**Guest:** Thank you~! Hope you liked this one; and I wish you a good day~! =D

**belladu57:** Thanks a lot, and I hope you have a good day~! :D

**Guest:** Thanks~ Hope you liked this one and I wish you a good day~! \\(^-^)/

**Mina:** Here's the update~ ;) LOL~ Thank you for dropping by, and I hope you have a good day~! \\(OwO)/

**nomnomfox:** Thank you so, so much for the review and compliments~! \\(*–*)/ Differentiating between Sindarin and Quenya . . . Agreed – even though they're both Elvish, they aren't the same; and lumping Sin. and Quen. together as just "Tolkien Elvish" doesn't entirely seem proper. Plus I'm picky and the desire to be very organized greatly surpasses my laziness~ x) And you've no need to be sorry – short review or long review, I am grateful and I welcome all~ ;3 Thanks again, and I hope thou hast a lovely day~! P.S., I love your name there . . . 'nomnomfox.' It's so cute; it reminds me of a bunch of fluffy, baby animals munching adorably on food~ LOL xDDD

**Guest:** Thanks~ Hoped you like this one; and I wish you a good day~! :D

**Rayne:** Thank you very much for your review and compliments~! \\(*0*)/ Eehhhh . . . I would say that Melkor ordered her chained; and Sauron (or some other Maia/Balrog/couple of orcs) did the chaining . . . I'm glad you like the Smaug/Felicity relationship – it's very amusing to write~ xDDD And yes: There'll eventually be a lot of travelling and adventure and stuff with Felicity, her fellow dragons; accompanied with elves, humans . . . And others~ :3 With your question about Ancalagon not putting up much of a fight, you pretty much answered it correctly. In addition, Ancalagon needs conformation from Gil-Galad to guarantee him that the Elves (and Men) won't attack him and the "freed" dragons, after said dragons leave Angband~ And more dialogue between characters . . . Will do~ I'll confess: I'm not that good at writing story dialogue, even though I'm good at scripting. (._. ) Thanks again, and I hope you have a lovely day~! =D P.S., _Eragon_? What's that book like? I've heard of it many times before, but I never got the chance to actually take a peek at it . . . (OwO)

**Guest:** Thank you~ Hoped you liked this one, and I wish you a good day~! \\(*-*)/

**Once:** O.O *hurriedly places new chapter before you* No, don't dissolve! Thou must liiiiiiiive! Ahem, anyways . . . xD Thanks very much~ Hope you have a lovely day~! \\(*–*)/

**Kiwi:** *Hands update* By "not letting this fizzle out," do you mean to not abandon it? Trust me, I have never abandoned or gave up on anything in my life's existence; therefore, I will complete this story~ \\(*0*)/ I know the feeling, though . . . There were many abandoned awesome fanfics I came across that made me sad 'cause they stopped so suddenly . . . Thanks for dropping by; and I hope you have a good day~! =D

**Guest:** Here's zee chapter; and I hope you liked this one~ Thanks very much, and I wish you a good day~! :D

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	9. We Shall Not Be Slaves To Your Will

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**And so I return from writing about Thranduil and an OC and Scatha masquerading as one of Thran-Thran's councillors and my OC kneeing Scatha in the balls . . . This took longer than usual, and for that, I apologize profusely. Lately, I've been doing a banking Co-op, so I'm ****working at the financial district from 9:00 a.m. to 4:00 p.m., and I'm not home until 5:00. The good thing is that now, I'm not as exhausted when I get home as I was during the first three weeks . . . To those who work at banks (or who deal with a lot of intense, focused paperwork all day), I now know your pain. Dxxx The patience is much appreciated and so I shall give you all virtual hugs and cakes~ =3 The next chapter is half-done, so the update shall cometh to you quite soon~! \\(*O*)/ (P.S., I think my chapters are getting longer. . .)**

*** Note I – A big thank you to those favoring, following and reviewing my fanfic; it really makes me happyyy~ =') You people are awesome, and I hope you enjoy this next chapter~! =D ***

*** Note II – Disclaimer: I obviously do not own the too-awesome-for-words Tolkien Universe. I own my OCs and my imagination~ :3 ***

*** Note III – From this chapter henceforth, 'Felicity' will be known as 'Kalasara~' You can continue to call her 'Felicity' if you want; however, I will no longer write her by that name~ (^–^) ***

*** Note IV – So, we're nearing the end of the First Age section of the story – next chapter's the last one. In fact, all current chapters (including the next one) are actually one giant prologue of backstory~ ;) The main story lives within the Second and Third Ages~ \\(*–*)/ ***

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**~ 008 – We Shall Not Be Slaves To Your Will ~**

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"Be with a leader when he is right, stay with him when he is still right; but, leave him when he is wrong."

~ Abraham Lincoln

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Scatha lasciviously eyed Kalasara from behind the dark and jagged rocks. He had watched her from when Sauron released her from those chains, to last night, and now to this morning. A low growl emitted from the back of his throat as he sniffed her fear that radiated through the soiled air. So it seemed that she was still terrified of Sauron's threats.

He wanted to take her, as he had done Anara. He desired to break Ancalagon completely . . . Only the "problem" was that Kalasara was a child and Scatha did not do that to children.

_Ah, well _. . . _I can wait_.

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_"Ancalagon, Saël. Come."_

_ Two tiny six-month-old dragonlings heeded their creator's call. Beating their tiny wings as best as they could, the baby dragons tumbled ungracefully onto Morgoth's lap. The Vala reclined further into his grand throne as Ancalagon and Saël nuzzled against his body that was clad in black clothing lined with gold filigree. They procured adorable little cries when their master petted them._

_ The Ainu was very pleased with his new creation: The winged dragon. Ancalagon was the first; Saël was the second, who was created a week after the ebony dragon. Karia was the first winged female dragon to be created, and she was done so two weeks after Saël. Anara was next. And then a few more were created after them._

_ Baby Ancalagon suddenly turned his tiny head and hissed as ferociously as he could – it made an amused Morgoth chuckle when he turned his head towards where Ancalagon faced. "Oh Mairon. Are you and Ancalagon still at odds? He is but a baby!"_

_ Sauron glared murderously at the hissing creature and he smirked almost distastefully. Morgoth was the only one he allowed to call him by his original name. "I loathe him. And he does me; ever since we first laid eyes on each other. I care not if he is a tiny baby."_

_ The Vala simply procured an amused 'tch;' and the Silmarilli embedded into his spiked black crown seemed to shine brighter than a blaring sun. "Ancalagon will grow to be the greatest of all dragons – surpassing even our dear Glaurung. Evidently, you will have to work with him."_

_ "I will not displease you, my lord. I will not allow for my hatred to cloud my judgment when that time comes." Sauron almost vomited at the second sentence. And that was when he felt a tug at the back of his black cloak. Turning around, he almost smiled as he gazed towards the black, polished floors. "Ah, it's you again! Hello, there." The Maia picked up a one-month-old dragonling delicately._

_ Temporarily, the two dragons play-fighting atop the Dark Lord's lap were almost non-existent to him. "He is the one who follows you everywhere, is he not?"_

_ Cradling the black-eyed black dragon, Sauron's voice was pleased and almost . . . Affectionate. "I like him. He is my favorite." At that, the tiny dragon procured a mirthful cry before nuzzling his snout against the humanoid's cheek. The Maia scratched beneath the black creature's chin. "My lord, does he have a name?"_

_ "It is 'Scatha.'"_

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"Why do the airs feel so ominous, Coru?" Jura wondered as he landed atop a mountain cliff next to the lounging form of his best friend.

Flippantly shrugging his shoulders, Corulagon languidly rose his head. "Oh, you're back! That was slow."

"Shut it." Jura rolled his eyes. "Where is Felicity? I haven't seen her at that mountain facing Thangorodrim."

Stretching his muscles, the dragon with yellow-golden eyes snorted. "Ancalagon renamed her 'Kalasara.' And why are you so concerned about her?"

_The name suits her _. . . "Because I think of her as my cute little sister! You should learn to be nice."

Corulagon smiled almost imperiously. "I will be nice when I feel like it."

_You're hopeless_, the chocolate brown dragon dryly thought. "Is she safe?"

"She has been freed under the condition that she will not leave Angband. And she will stay safe if Ancalagon does not make any attempts to rid himself of his chains –"

"What happened whilst I was away?!" The light blue-eyed dragon looked to be angrily puzzled as he abruptly interrupted the other.

"Ai, be quiet!" the pale green dragon chastised. "Do you want to draw attention?"

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I don't know how I ended up right inside the fortress of Angband. I was simply wondering around, when I came to this dark tunnel and entered through it. Walking and meandering and turning and stuff. And now I'm here!

I have yet to see Ancalagon, which is strange – to me, anyways. I no longer hold onto Sauron's threats from last night; I mean, I'm still in Angband, so he won't kill me. Right? I am a little nervous, though. . .

You know, I feel like such a boss right now. I'm walking in some really evil fortress. Morgoth's in here, and so is Sauron. The orcs I pass by are not even looking at me as if they want to kill me. Boss life; 'nuff said . . . But alright, let me be realistic for a moment: One wrong move and I die. Everyone is happy!

_Daaaad_! _Wherefore art thou_?

The lack of mental reply has me worry. Padding along the underground tunnels and chambers, I try to find a staircase of sorts. I absolutely hate being underground – I always have this feeling where everything could cave in unexpectedly, and then I would die lonely and in the dark without any shred of hope. Blah.

My hearing discerns shouting and the sharp, echoing sounds of weapons clashing. Hurriedly following it out of curiosity, I arrive to see fire within what looks to be a sparring pit . . . Full of Balrogs. I take a small moment to observe them, noticing that some of them have wings and others don't. The wingless Balrogs are taller, quite muscular, and fiercer in appearance. The ones with wings do have muscle; however they are more slender and agile-looking, and they are not as tall as the wingless ones. . .

I shriek as soon as a fiery whip with multiple thongs hits the rock above my head; sending debris to tumble upon my body. "Oh gods, no. . ."

"'Tis a little dragon!" a Valarauko exclaims. "One does not usually find them down here."

Another one speaks up, and I shakily glance at him. "What are you doing here?"

I blink multiple times. "I'm l-lost –"

"Oi! Are you not Ancalagon's child?"

"The daughter of traitor!"

My eyes widen in a panic. Ancalagon, a 'traitor?' Were his visits to Gil-Galad found out?

Unfortunately, I am surrounded. A menacing wingless Balrog stands before me at some distance, and the grip on his whip tightens with glee. "Shall we indulge ourselves into some _fun_?"

"Ha ha ha, I'm sure it would not matter!"

Body shaking, my eyes are glued towards the whip of the beast in front of me. The others cheer.

"Traitor's spawn!" he yells as he raises his muscled arm.

"CEASE THIS PATHETIC CHILD'S PLAY!"

Everyone turns to the source of the growling, powerful voice. Valaraukar part to create a small path, and the newcomer – a winged Balrog – regally saunters down until he reaches the front of the crowd. "She is not to be harmed under two conditions: One, which she does not leave Angband; and two, that our Dragon Lord behaves well and stays in his chains."

Ancalagon is chained?!

"She is a child of a defector! Under whose idiotic mouth did these orders come from, Captain Lungorthin?" the Balrog who was so close to whipping me demands, accompanied with a nasty sneer. 'Lungorthin?' If I recall, he is another Lord of the Balrogs (I guess he is the only one now considering that Gothmog's already dead); and he is the vital chief for Angband's guards. . .

At the other's demand, this Valarauko fixates him with an authoritative glare. "Lord Morgoth's orders. I would do well to watch _your_ mouth, if I were you." Startling everyone within the vast room, Lungorthin speedily whips out his weapon and strikes the other quite hard across the face with his multiple-pronged whip. The wingless creature falls to his knees; eliciting a sound of satisfaction from the Balrog Lord. "You were also to report to the Northern Tower – yet you are here?! Why? I gave you a simple task; but then again, you were always one to ignore orders!"

Goodness me . . . This is quite terrifying and I am more than relieved that all focus is towards this fiasco and not myself anymore. With haste, I sneak out and run as fast as I can with Lungorthin's deep shouting resonating behind me.

…

Panting heavily, I stop in the middle of a much nicer-looking (though all black) polished corridor, and I catch my breath after some non-stop running and stair-climbing. The indefinite row of arched, open windows provide a surprisingly comforting breeze accompanied with an unsurprisingly odour of ash and smelliness. The skies are, as always, grey and depressing. _Daaaaad, are you anywhere near here_?

_Kal _. . . _Kalasara_?

Hope stirs within my chest when I hear his voice. The weird thing is that as soon as I hear it, I develop this feeling like I know exactly where he is. It is after I run down two more corridors that I enter the colossal room that has Morgoth's throne in it. I mentally cheer at the fact that the aforementioned Vala is currently not in this room . . . And then my gaze falls onto a hunched figure sitting cross-legged and chained to this metal post near the side of the room and in front of one of the gargantuan, thick shiny black pillars that hold the ceiling. "Father!" I cry excitedly as I hurry towards him.

"Kalasara, I am overjoyed to see you well!" Ancalagon in his elven form smiles warmly at me, yet his shining orbs hold weariness and hidden wrath. He smells of ruined flesh and dried blood; and I cringe in horror at the uncountable whip lashes embedded into his back, shoulders and upper arms. The wounds will become infected pretty soon if they are not treated right away. I also catch a glimpse of a thin, shiny metallic onyx collar around his throat. . .

"I'm happy to see you too," I respond gently with tears welling in my silvery eyes.

Rusted chains rattling, my injured father cups my face tenderly. "Oh my child; there is no need to cry. . ."

"I _hate_ seeing you like this!"

His fierce hug proceeds to soothe me. "It will not always be like this. At first, things change badly, yet the aftermaths are good. I wish to live a beautiful, fulfilling life with you – we can be a proper family when all of this is over. . ."

He continues talking in a low and smooth voice; lulling me into a deep slumber.

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"_He willingly accepts_."

Jura's whisper from earlier on resonated throughout Ancalagon's mind ceaselessly. His arms stayed around a sleeping Kalasara as the Lord of Dragons finally displayed some form of reaction to those three words: A murderous yet victorious smirk.

"Ah, and how is my dear dragon doing on this fine night?" the deep voice of a Vala floated suddenly into his ears.

Ancalagon's ruby red orbs fixated upon the entertained Ainu sitting on his throne. He kept his mouth shut in distaste as he held an emotionless facial expression.

"Give it time." Morgoth grinned in contempt. His starry gold-and-blue eyes seemed to glow brighter. "Soon, you will succumb. You _will_ bend to my will again."

A snort. "I doubt that. I will not." Black, ebony hair spilled down the elf-dragon's broad left shoulder as he sat straighter. He flinched at the itchy, hot, sticky and stinging pain of his wounds. "We shall not be slaves to your will, Melkor."

The Vala's grin broadened; displaying teeth that glimmered as though they were freshly sharpened knives eager to ruin flesh. "Your next whipping is in an hour. I do wish that your little one stays asleep whist it happens. For someone as young as her, the view can be quite _scarring_."

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"Kalasara!"

A wide grin plasters onto my face at the familiar voice; albeit, I morph it into a pleased smirk as soon as Smaug waltzes into view. "Smaug, I missed you!" I exclaim as I gently nuzzle my head against his neck, right below his chin. I have not seen him in four days and, well, I honestly do miss his company . . . But I am not quite sure why I'm behaving this affectionately. Emotions are weird things. . .

"I know; after all, I am rather irresistible," he responds with faux imperiousness.

"Don't be too full of yourself!" I part from him and lightly smack his shoulder. "Arrogance is not irresistible. I can't stand it."

"And yet you're still here," the crimson dragon comments with a snicker.

"Because we're friends and I know you're not serious." For now . . . I realize from _The Hobbit_ that Third Age Smaug would be quite narcissistic; and so, I make a mental note to make sure that he does not become _overly_ full of himself in a humourless manner rather than a joking one.

Smaug's voice pulls me out of my thoughts. "I must confess: I really do like your new name – it suits you better than 'Felicity.' Not only that, but it gives me a lot of choices for embarrassing nicknames."

I smiled before. Now, at that last blunt sentence, I procure a loud groan. "Oh, no. . ."

"Kal-Kal."

"Stop."

"Lasara."

"Stop, now!"

"Sara. Ara. Ra. Ra-Ra."

"Fuck off, Smaug!"

"Kalas."

"GO AWAY!"

"_Never_," Smaug drawls out in amusement; much to my irritation.

"It's soooooo not fair; your name is hard to use to invent some embarrassing nicknames!" I whine.

The cheeky dragon simply gazes at me haughtily. "One of the reasons why I love it so –"

"Never mind." Interrupting him unexpectedly, a thought sparkles into my mind.

Smaug adorably tilts his head to the side. "What?"

"Mau."

His fiery golden eyes fixate so intensely into my silvery ones. "Did you just meow?"

Laughing, I shake my head. "No; 'Mau.' You know: S_mau_g . . . Mau? Mau-Mau?"

"Oh go away, Lasara," he grumbles with a glare as his nostrils flare (oh, I rhymed)!

The tone of my response is so dramatically evil: "_Never_."

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The dragons who have felt the 'pull,' the 'realization,' and the desire to fight against the Dark Lord have gotten their wish. Jura and Corulagon have very discreetly been whispering to these dragons about the young High King of the Noldor accepting Ancalagon's alliance.

Throughout the following couple of months and in very tiny groups, these dragons would secretly leave Angband. So far, no suspicions have been aroused. . .

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I wake up feeling something delicately cool around my neck. I panic at first as I remember how I was chained with a collar at one of the outer mountains; however, this is much too loose. Lifting my head off of a napping Ancalagon's lap, I sit up and rub at my eyes before my pupils trail downwards; cupping the object within my forehand: It is a necklace. A very lovely one at that, and it holds simplicity yet elegance. There is a purple amethyst, shaped like a sharp diamond and reminding me of an icicle. The casing that hugs and surrounds that are swirls of slender vine – it is white gold, and so is the chain around my neck. It is very Elven in design . . . But who . . . ?

"Kalasara, what is that?" the groggy voice of Ancalagon resonates into my ears.

Abruptly turning my head, I blink awkwardly at the sleepy eyes of my father. "Oh! It's –"

"Who gave that to you?" Suddenly, his ruby red orbs are filled with this father-like need to overprotect his child . . . Ah, crap.

"I don't know –"

"What do you mean? Clearly, it's around your neck."

"I just woke up; finding this mysteriously on me! You know I came in here without it!"

"Are you in a relationship with someone? You are too young for that!"

My eyes are so close to popping out of their sockets. "Daaaaaaad! I'm not even interested in romance."

"Do you have any secret admirers?" Ancalagon demands with forcefulness and concern.

"What? No!"

"Who is he?!"

"No one – I don't know who you're talking about!"

"Kalasara. . ."

And this continues on for a while. Oh gods, I am so embarrassed . . . Why, Dad? WHY?!

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Saël, in his secondary form of an elf, sat cross-legged before his chained, closest friend. The beautiful, shimmering straight ruby red hair that he owned spilled down his back with a few tendrils settling at the front and framing his chiseled face. His arms were loosely crossed as his piercing, fiery golden eyes bore intensely with mixed emotions into the faintly calculating eyes of the other.

"Saël, you've been staring at me for ten minutes without a single word nor sound," Ancalagon commented dryly. He was hungry. He was thirsty. And he was in critical need of the wonders of elvish healing.

"Months ago, I chose to ignore the words and rumours that have been said about you. Only recently, I have accepted them. Why? Never would I have thought you a defector," Saël mused almost distastefully with eyes that flashed with distrust.

The Lord of Dragons bit the inside of his cheek. "Because what Melkor is doing, is wrong. I regret my past wrongdoings and I repent. There is more to your life than to blindly serve a fallen Vala, as a slave to his will." To his sadness, the black-haired being already accepted that his closest friend would not understand because his mind has yet to undergo the 'realization.'

A low and deep growl emitted from the back of Saël's throat. "How dare you –?"

"You are in command of your own mind, Saël; not Melkor!" Ancalagon interrupted in a slightly encouraging tone. "Fight with me; with the elves; with the Valar. You can bring Karia and Smaug –"

"NO!" Something snapped within the mind of the ruby red-haired elf-dragon as he stood to his feet without warning. His lips twitched, and a petite shimmer of fear flashed through his eyes. "Do not drag my family into this! I couldn't bear for them to die from the cause of your schemes."

"Saël, I implore you to listen! My friend –"

"Do not call me your friend. You are nothing but a traitor, Ancalagon the Black!" the fiery golden-eyed elf-dragon roared; spitting out Ancalagon's name as if it were poisonous. "And I will not heed the words of traitors. I really do hope that Lord Morgoth soon loses his desire to change you back, and just kills you."

Saël stormed out of the throne room with a hardened facial expression. A single, sneaky tear managed to cascade down his cheek; albeit, he furiously wiped that aside with clenched teeth.

Ancalagon's heart cracked. His eyes were frozen in incredulous shock. Tears welled within them, yet they did not fall.

_Clap_! _Clap_! _Clap_!

"Well, that was rather interesting. Like a play of sorts!" came the irritating voice of Sauron.

Ancalagon glared towards the Maia, who now stood before him and grinned innocently despite that malicious and psychotic 'serial killer' look in his eyes. The elf-dragon was absolutely in no mood for the other's shenanigans; and if it were not for the damned onyx collar, he would have tried to incinerate him. The thin collar that was around Ancalagon's neck was a special one of Morgoth's making and it was specifically used as a humiliating punishment for misbehaving dragons. The collar would generally be fastened around a dragon in his or her secondary form, and it would prevent them from morphing back into their original draconic forms. It also prevented them from using their fire.

"'Fuck this damned collar,' is what you are thinking, right?" Sauron assumed as he sustained his grin. "I must say: It does suit you rather splendidly, Beastie."

Ancalagon's glare was as hard as mithril, yet a smirk of derision played his lips without him even realizing it. "'Fuck?' Judging by the state of your neck and your chipper mood, it seems like Melkor's back to fucking you regularly. This time _I_ must say: Those bite marks suit _you_ rather splendidly, Mairon."

It was later on during the day that Ancalagon was thrown underground into the dungeons.

.

* * *

.

It has been a week since my father has been relocated to the dungeons; and quite frustratingly, I am _still_ not allowed to travel down there and keep him company. Damn you, Morgoth; you cannot just separate family like this! In fact, I am actually banned from exploring underground because there are apparently a few secret passageways that lead away from Angband.

Jura and I currently lounge on one of the mountain plateaus. We are talking, just . . . I don't know how to say it, but we are having a bonding moment. And I'm beginning to think of him as an older brother, which is kind of something new to me: Back on Earth, I was an only child. I have an older male cousin on my deceased biological father's side; however, I barely saw him due to the fact that he lives in Seoul, South Korea. My few male friends never really had that "brother relationship" with me.

"Let go, you!"

That loud female yell shuts up both Jura and I; and we quickly pad over to the edge of a cliff and stare towards the lower ground. Two armoured troll-guards stand near an entrance with their huge double-sided axe spears. Close to them is a Balrog patrol guard; firmly holding onto his whip that is coiled around both of the hind legs of a dragoness with silvery scales, touched with a black tail and feet – a similar pattern to a seal-point Siamese cat.

"Just where were you sneaking off to so suspiciously?" the Valarauko demands fiercely.

"Shit," Jura mumbles among the slender dragoness' loud protests. "Kalasara, wait right here."

My eyes widen as he powerfully leaps from the cliff; slamming into the back of the Balrog. As soon as Jura raises his head, I gasp as I notice that he holds the demonic creature's severed head within his jaws. The troll-guards ready their weapons. With a sudden snap of his head, the chocolate brown dragon flings the gaping head so speedily, that as soon as it hits one of the trolls in the face, that troll tumbles to the dusty ground in unconsciousness. Wow, that was badass . . . I wish I can do that.

The remaining troll roars whilst spinning his spear-like axe once before pointing it towards Jura. Aforementioned dragon roars even louder; and with that roar, blinding fire bursts from his mouth. The troll wails like a tortured animal as he quickly burns alive.

Jura hurries to the dragoness, who had just stood up with burn marks around her legs. They speak in hushed voices; and after a quick minute, she flies away in haste . . . And that is when the warning horns begin to fill the air. Panicking, my eyes dart all over the place before Jura reappears before me. "Time to leave," he mutters as he lifts me up in one hand and holds me protectively against his upper chest. He proceeds to take flight and rounds a jagged mountain.

"Wait, 'leave?' We're leaving Angband for good?"

"Yes."

Well, that is sudden . . . But evidently necessary. And then my eyes widen in horror. "Wait, Smaug!"

"What?"

"Smaug! I have to let him know!"

"We don't have time!" Jura yells incredulously; five seconds before he incinerates a bombardment of arrows heading his way.

"I cannot just disappear on him! I have to say goodbye!"

"I understand how you feel, but here is _no_ time!"

Ohhhh, I feel so terrible and irresponsible. . .

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* * *

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Even through the thick rock walls of the stinky, dark dungeons, Ancalagon's ears could easily make out the incessant shouting and blaring of the warning horns. The rusted and narrow barred doors made it hard to be able to gage what was happening just outside the cell; although, the injured elf-dragon noted orcs running by at random times.

And then it was quiet within the dank, poorly-lit hallway. As of yet, there was no one else breathing – save for an orc-sentinel with keys hanging about the belt around his hips. But he stood away from the bars, so Ancalagon could not see him.

"Oi, you! I need you for a moment."

The Lord of Dragons almost laughed at the entertained, confident voice of this newcomer. A familiar scent and set of footsteps gradually came closer.

The orc responded: "I'm to watch the prisoner, Dragon. Ask someone else –"

A gurgled sound suddenly emitted from the orc's vocal cords. And the nasty sound of bones crunching. The orc's body plopped swiftly to the ground and in front of the barred door with blood trickling from the neck. Keys jingled, and the door was unlocked and opened.

"And now you are literally watching the prisoner!" Corulagon exclaimed in both amusement and distaste. Blood spilled from the base of the head as the armoured elf-dragon held said head in the air by the matted and tangled hair. Gaze turning towards the other, he cheekily grinned. "Ugly little sons of whores, aren't they?"

Ancalagon chuckled; glancing at the shadowed face of the younger before him. "Now, now; be nice to the dead." His face then morphed into one of worry. "Where is Kalasara?"

Corulagon smirked; frivolously flinging the severed head against the wall at the other side of the room before dropping to his knees and unlocking the thick manacles from Ancalagon's wrists. "Lavender Scales is safely with Jura." Dropping the keys, the golden-haired being assisted the other in standing to his feet. "We should make haste."

"You don't say?" the Lord of Dragons replied sardonically. "Making haste is not easy to do when one is in my current condition." He procured a single tug on the thin onyx collar around his neck. "Damn this collar – unfortunately, only its' corresponding key can open it."

Corulagon supported him as they trudged out into the dimly-lit corridor. He checked both sides and they made way to their right. "We have it."

Ancalagon stared at him with suspicion. "Mairon had it. How does one even steal something from him?"

"Jura told me that it fell from his robes without him even realizing it. Lavender Scales was the one who saw that and she discreetly took the key. Jura has it for safekeeping."

The black-haired elf-dragon wearily grinned. "Awww, I'm so proud of her!"

Grumbling, Corulagon rolled his eyes. They moved down an uneven, spiraling staircase.

Their destination in mind was one of Angband's secret passageways. Once inside, they would follow the tunnel under a small portion of Anfauglith until they would then reach the opening at the base of an array of desert canyons. Following that, the duo would travel to Ered Wethrin in order to meet up with the dragons who have been hiding out there. . .

"Where are you going with the prisoner?!" an orc demanded as a group of them unexpectedly appeared.

"Dragon scum!" spat another.

Corulagon's bright grin reeked of the desire to smell his enemies' burning flesh, and listen to their pathetic wails. He stepped forward. Ancalagon stepped back and leant against the chilly walls; smirking in content as his companion released his lethal element.

.

* * *

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… _Three Weeks Later_ …

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* * *

.

Weakened, weary and grotesquely injured, Ancalagon in his secondary form is being carried by Corulagon in his elven form. The golden-haired elf-dragon hastily follows two Noldor sentries – most likely towards the direction of the Healing Houses.

Elves and men are bustling throughout the vicinity. We dragons have only just arrived within the vast main courtyard in front of the main fortress of the Mouths of Sirion. And I must say: This is a rather beautiful change in atmosphere.

We have been traveling for many days with minimal rest – which was so unbearably tiring for myself; however, I am quite thankful for Jura for carrying me in my most desperate moments. Because we were in a rush, we had no time to properly treat and bind my father's critical injuries . . . Albeit, I am grateful for the current situation; especially since his wounds have become infected. Hurray for the magical awesomeness that is the elves' healing capabilities!

On a side note, I assumed that when the thin onyx collar was removed from Ancalagon's neck that he would throw it away. But no; he wants to keep it. Apparently, he wants to use it against Scatha when the opportunity arises.

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* * *

.

I lay on my belly with my head up and alert within a corridor of an area inside the Healing Houses. My eyelids crunch up in impatience as I glare at the closed door of the room that holds Ancalagon. He has been in there for three days; and for now, only the healers are permitted to enter the room – Chief Healer Lossëa's orders. Damn it.

"Ah, never have I seen a _little_ dragon before!" exclaims a somewhat deep, yet lilting voice.

Turning my head, I peer irritatingly towards a handsome, armoured ellon with piercing emerald green eyes and glossy, straight ink-black hair. And he is squatting a bit _too_ close to my personal space; staring into my eyes for a while . . . "You're weird," I comment automatically.

"And you are purple," he comments in an impishly random way. Lifting a finger to poke my cheek, I flinch away.

"And you are random." Seriously: Not even three minutes, and he is already reminding of Vanessa, my closest friend from Earth.

"And you are grumpy for the moment."

"And you are exasperating for the moment."

"And you are –"

"Captain Lërynion!" interrupted a newcomer's voice. Our heads turn to a regal ellon with long raven black hair and crystal blue eyes. He continues: "I suggest completing your work first, rather than annoying one of our guests."

The Noldo in front of me instantly stands to his feet. "Yes, Aran nîn," he singsongs before bowing his head; giving me a wink; and, sauntering down the corridor.

Oh my goodness . . . Ereinion Gil-Galad! And a _young_ Gil-Galad at that! You know, it shall prove to be very interesting to watch his growth from now to later on in the Second Age, where he becomes Sauron's most powerful foe.

"You are not like the other dragons. You have a different aura about you," the Noldo comments. His facial expression towards me is neutral, yet his eyes display intrigue. "What is your name?"

"Kalasara, Your Grace," I respond politely. "However, 'Felicity' was my old name."

Gil-Galad gives me a small smile. "Ah, yes: I remember Ancalagon mentioning you. And with how you came from another world altogether."

Raising my brow, I procure a pleasing smirk. "And do you believe that?"

"Surprisingly yes. Not even Lord Círdan sensed any essence of Morgoth within you – which I do find strange considering your race. Your fëa is a bright light – and foreign. Therefore, where else could you have come from?"

We continue our chatter for an extra ten minutes. I cannot remember entirely; however, I could have sworn that there were two versions on Earth about Gil-Galad's parentage: One, where he is the son of Fingon; and the other, where he is the son of Orodreth. Although; I do think that the single, slender braid (that I just noticed) along one side of his head, that has a thin golden ribbon woven through it, says it all. . .

Apparently in the past, Ancalagon told him of my knowledge for future events . . . Gil-Galad is currently asking me about the outcome of the upcoming war.

I blink in a momentary loss of thought. "Unfortunately, I cannot specify. I only know bits and pieces about the war; and, well, what if the future changes simply because I voice out exact specifics?"

The young king gazes at me in understanding. "Tell me one thing: Will these lands finally earn peace? Will Morgoth's reign end?"

"You'd be surprised." I smirk.

.

* * *

.

Smaug sat atop a mountainous cliff. It was the same area in which Kalasara was chained in months ago.

The dragonling had always admired and respected Ancalagon the Black. Even when he was chained after his betrayal was voice, Smaug continued to hold that admiration and respect.

And Kalasara . . . He had still desired to be in her company after that incident. His mother advised against it; however, he truly enjoyed being with her. He could not have helped it.

And now she was gone.

Like a fluffy snowflake as soon as it collided with something warm. It would melt abruptly.

She disappeared from him.

She had never even _hinted_ at anything related to leaving.

Smaug felt _betrayed_.

.

* * *

.

_I scream._

_ I scream with such a passionate rage; with such fierce agony._

_ I can no longer feel the weights in my grasp, nor my cuts and my burning, sweaty body._

_ Everything is numb. _

_ I can no longer hear the cries, yells, roars, and the clanging of metal._

_Tears well within my eyes, but they do not fall._

_ My heart beats so very loudly into my ears._

_ Everyone around me is non-existent._

_ Because I focus on the two in the distance._

_ Growling, my teeth become sharper as I develop an insatiable desire for blood._

_ Maiar blood._

_ Kill him, kill him, kill him; I will kill him._

_ If the kings do not get to him before I do, I will take pleasure in ending his life._

_ Or I will die trying._

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* * *

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Aran Nîn – My King – (Sindarin)

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* * *

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*** After Note I – Dream sequences are so, so fun to write~! \\(*w*)/ I, uh, won't say anymore on the matter until it's time~ ;D Anyways, feel free to drop a review and let me know what you think~! :D To be honest, I'm not really that satisfied with this chapter . . . I mean, I never truly am completely satisfied, but this chapter kinda elicited the least amount of satisfaction from within me . . . The next is a lot better and is one that I'm actually mostly satisfied with . . . (._. ) ***

*** After Note II – In one of the previous chapters, _Mairon Finds Out_, there is a specific scene I screwed up one – the one where Ancalagon and Corulagon do some reconnaissance in their elven forms. My screw-up was that at the end of that scene, I introduced young elven twins intended to be Elrond and Elros. Unfortunately, I didn't double-check their year of birth until the day after I posted the chapter – they were born in First Age 534; therefore, by that point in the story, they would have been either six, seven or eight years old. That being said, pretend that those twins are just random warriors; and when I have time, I'll change one of their physical appearances and not make them related. Elrond and Elros will appear in the very near future . . . (._. ) *** **(June 26, 2015 - The changes have been made).**

...

**Guest:** Thanks very much~ Hoped you liked this one, and I wish you a good day~! \\(*O*)/

**The Random Guest:** \\(*–*)/ LE GASP. Thank you so much for your words and your virtual cookies~! *munches on the cookies* These are yummies~ OwO Thanks again, and I hope you have a good day~ Adios~! *offers cake* =3

**Guest:** Thank you~ Hoped you liked this one, and I wish you a good day~! \\(*0*)/

**nomnomfox:** Thank you very much~! (*-*) LOL, that actually happened? That's so hilariously random . . . I love hilarious randomness. *Offers you cake* xDDD And me too . . . Daddy Ancalagon also moves my heart in certain ways . . . Thanks again, and I hope you have a good day~! :D

**Rayne:** No worries; don't apologize! I'm usually late with my updates. ;) And good luck with your applications! (I'm currently doing that with business school). Anyways, thank you very much for your review and I'm glad that you're liking the stuff~ \\(*-*)/ You're welcome – I will most definitely include those warnings in every chapter with graphic anything. With Jura and Corulagon . . . I'm pretty much doing that thing where you have two best friends and one of them is like an asshole and the other is like a gentleman/gentlewoman. Coru is somewhat irritated by Kalasara and he just tolerates her 'cause he's loyal to Ancalagon (that unreasonable irritation will eventually change in the future). Additionally, with Corulagon and Jura, I've mentioned in the chapter titled, _Mairon Finds Out_, that they were simply Ancalagon's subordinates; and that they've been recently growing on him – especially since they've become his close confidants. Now, the C.J. Duo have a growing friendship with Mr. Black and beginning with the next chapter, they become his most trusted lieutenants. Smaug's parents . . . Well, they truly love each other. Saël has never been abusive or degrading towards his mate. :3 To be honest, I've no idea how many dragons are in Middle-Earth due to Tolkien not being specific; but I assume that there are a few hundred or a few thousand. I'm planning for a lot to be on Team Ancalagon; however, more will be on Team Melkor . . . So perhaps for every one dragon on Team Ancalagon, there are four or five dragons on Team Melkor. Something like that. Travelling and meeting people! \\(*O*)/ One thing I always plan out with fanfics is that I want my main OC to meet as many of the canon characters as possible. I'm even planning for some eventual Númenor travels~ Also, with your question about her knowledge of Tolkien's world, I'll eventually write that – essentially, she thoroughly knows _The Lord of the Rings_ and _The Hobbit_, as she's read and watched the books and movies. She knows random bits of _The Silmarillion_, but not everything. And thank you for explaining _Eragon_! It sounds very intriguing and I'll definitely read it. Unfortunately, I won't be able to get to it soon since I'm busy with other things. And I'm currently reading the _A Song Of Ice And Fire_ series (which is taking some time), so I'll get to read _Eragon_ after those~ =D Thank you again, and I hope you have a lovely day~! *-*

**Guest:** Yas. For the most part, I do agree with you. :3 However, all care flew out the window when I wrote that _short_ scene. It was not a battle, but a simple argument with only one piece of physicality. Ancalagon had a rare moment of being caught off guard, and I've always thought that Sauron was one of the stronger of the Maiar, so he is, in a sense, able to do what he did – especially if he utilized the majority of his power. Additionally, I only made Sauron use that power _once_ in that scene, as using it again for someone like Ancalagon would be quite taxing~ Thanks for dropping by, and have a good day~! =D

**Guest:** Muaha, here's the update~ Thank you, and I hope you have a good day~! \\(^–^)/

**Guest:** Muahaha, thou shall have to wait and see~ ;) Thanks very much, and I wish you a good day~! *–*

**Guest:** GOOD QUESTION. Up until now, I completely forgot to mention the reason why I placed this in _The Hobbit_ category rather the _The Silmarillion_ category: Similar to what I mentioned at the top in *** Note IV ***, the majority – about 90% percent – of the story will take place during the Second and Third Ages, and only 10% is taking place in the First Age~ I don't know why; but to me, if a story begins before the Second Age and over 50% of it takes place after the First Age, I usually place it in _The Hobbit_ or _The Lord Of The Rings _categories. Similarly, if a story extends to after the First Age, but over 50% takes place _in_ the First Age (or before that), then I would place it in _The Silmarillion_ category . . . Thank you very much, and I wish you a lovely day~! \\(*–*)/

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	10. The War Of Wrath

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**Oh my word, longest chapter yet . . . (OxO)**

*** Note I – A big thank you to those favoring, following and reviewing my fanfic; it really makes me happyyy~ =') You people are awesome, and I hope you enjoy this next chapter~! =D ***

*** Note II – Disclaimer: I obviously do not own the too-awesome-for-words Tolkien Universe. I own my OCs and my imagination~ :3 ***

*** Note III – A quick note about the layout in this chapter: The scenes within the first set of years that are labelled are "randomly" spaced, and they are written in a sense of gaging what is happening throughout the years prior the War of Wrath. It's the same for the next set of years, only those are during the war~ OwO 'Cause I'm just not gonna linger pointlessly on the prologue/backstory section of this fic; albeit in future chapters, I will include flashbacks~ o.o ***

***** Note IV – Mini warning: Some scenes will be overly violent and descriptive~ OxO *****

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* * *

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**~ 009 – The War Of Wrath ~**

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* * *

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"What do we say to the God of Death?"

"Not today."

~ _Game of Thrones_ (Syrio Forel and Arya Stark, respectively)

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* * *

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… _First Age 542 – First Age 544_ …

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* * *

.

_"Dad, I'm wondering about something."_

_ "You can ask me anything, my Kalasara."_

_ "Where do dragons' fëar go after they die?"_

_ "I . . . Well . . . Hmm. That I am not certain of. Do not worry; I will __**never**__ leave you."_

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* * *

.

The scent of hyacinths pleasantly fills my nostrils. It is a sweet and strong scent – this type of flower is one of my favorites. Hyacinths stand proudly throughout the gardens in which I am currently lounging in; and their lovely heads of blooms bob faintly in the breeze. My eyes glaze over these flowers as I'm hypnotized by their various blues, purples, pinks, reds, yellows and whites. . .

_Meow_!

My head snaps to the side upon hearing that high-pitched sound, and I glance towards a bed of elanor . . . Catching sight of a female cat's head poking out from the golden star-shaped flower heads. She resembles a seal-point Siamese with quite the piercing ice-blue eyes. She is a beauty, and I do like cats; however, I am simply not in the mood. Many things swim about my mind – the two major items on the list being the upcoming War of Wrath and my father's recovery. Today marks the end of the second month that he has been in the Healing Houses; and apparently, his wounds were a lot more serious than it had seemed.

"You seem troubled."

Releasing a surprised squeak, I look around me. . .

"Down here."

Complying, my eyes meet with the Siamese cat's icy orbs. "Did you just talk?" I ask loudly in bewilderment.

"Of course; who else is –?"

"Oh hell, is this for real?"

"Please calm –"

"A talking cat!"

"Listen –"

"No! What if you're cursed?!"

"I assure you, I'm not!"

"Am I drunk?"

"How am I to know that?! Now listen, Kalasara!"

"HOW DO YOU KNOW MY NAME?!"

Without any warning, the cat releases a roar, which causes me to immediately shut up and stare at her with bulging eyes. After a second, she sits straight with a certain regal elegance that only felines seem to possess, for some reason. "Now that I know that you will _not_ be interrupting me," she huffs in annoyance (though her eyes flash with slight amusement), "allow me introduce myself: I am Daalara."

Now breathing calmly, I procure a small and sheepish smile. "So sorry about that. I have never met a talking animal before." Except for that one time I met this really irritating parrot. NEVER AGAIN.

Daalara meows and forgives me, and we end up sharing some light chatter. I learn that she is actually a dragon who prefers being in her secondary form of a cat – and she is a young one of only one hundred and forty years of age.

Yellow-white, orange-gold and a bruising purplish colour proceed to fill the dissipating blue skies. Daalara pads away and exits the gardens, but I stay. It has become breezier and I always find it quite soothing and comfortable when the winds pick up their pace. A shine suddenly catches my attention . . . There's something shining in between tall blades of grass and I wonder why I have not noticed it until now. Strolling halfway through the garden, I grasp the cool, metallic item and observe it. And then I gasp in shock: It is the exact same necklace that I own. Except that the chain and swirls of slender vine are a pure yellow-gold, and the stone is a bright and passionate ruby. My eyes become lost whilst staring at this as it immediately reminds me of a certain crimson-scaled dragon that I dearly miss.

Seriously, how am I even finding this? Did anyone even own these necklaces some time before?

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* * *

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We march to the desert-like region of Anfauglith.

We are; however, actually halfway through the distance. The River Sirion stretches seemingly indefinitely; and the Elves, Men and Dragons travel along either side of it (if I recall, I believe the Dwarves also assist with the war effort; however, we have yet to come across them). Trembling, the ground echoes the deep and deadly music of pre-war – the synchronized marching that makes me close my eyes and picture a large, empty room. There is a clock, loudly ticking and achingly passing our time away – a tick for every march. . .

Crows suddenly caw. Passing around stone ruins of a small town that looks like it was only recently destroyed, I notice Jura and a few elves on horseback parting from the moving masses and making way into the town – most likely to check for any survivors . . . And as if on cue, I develop a curiosity and this uncomfortable feeling where I won't like what I'll find. "Daalara, I'll return soon."

The slender seal-point dragoness nods her head. "Stay close to Jura, alright?"

"Yep!" Meandering through the warriors and their mounts, I make way out of the lines and into the ruined town. Hopping over a crumbled pillar, a rotten stench fills my nostrils and I gag. Gaunt bodies litter the vicinity; and close by to me, a crow is perched atop a gaping severed head with an eyeball captured within its' beak. Acidy bile rises up my throat, but I don't vomit.

"Kalasara, what are you doing here?"

"Curiosity," I breathe out uncomfortably to Jura before I trudge away and pass by two dark-haired ellyn kneeling by the body of a middle-aged man, who is still alive, though barely so. Turning the corner of a small, half-collapsed house, I catch sight of bare and bloodied feet and the hems of a torn and faded woolen auburn dress. A huge light grey rock is planted atop the majority of the body; so I move around that and gazing downwards, I see a familiar pretty young lady with the long, wavy black hair and brown eyes that used to be warm and sparkly.

My breathing becomes ragged when I scan her face: Disgusting, squirming maggots fidget around the corners of her eyes and her vaguely parted mouth. She is very pale and her eyes are dull and lifeless.

No. No. _No_.

She deserves a proper burial; one where at the end of it, her ashes shall be carried away by the winds and she will be completely free of the horrors of reality. Not a rotting, abandoned one such as this; where the earth consumes her and traps her bones.

Tears well within my eyes; and releasing a pain-filled cry, I try my hardest to push the damned large rock off of her body. I push and push, but the rock is too strong.

"Is she not that young woman we saved from those orcs a few years back?" Jura wonders as he appears by my side.

"Yes! Now please help me remove this stupid rock!"

"Kalasara –"

"Please!" I implore the older dragon as I abruptly turn my head and stare at him with teary eyes. I already know what he was going to say prior my interruption; that we are here only to gather any survivors and simply leave the dead so as to not waste time. I almost choke on a sob. "Please, Jura; she doesn't deserve this . . . They all don't deserve this."

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* * *

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Faint, shining scales of silver played and danced as schools of salmon swam through the vast blue ocean of Belegaer. Ingwion's bright golden hair blew in the wind as he lent against the wooden railing along the ship's deck, and he became mesmerized by the fish and the ocean's ceaseless movements and patterns.

His ship was one of the many within a fleet of large, swan-resembling vessels that were halfway across Belegaer. The elves on board were no longer within the safe confines of Aman. They were to assist in the war effort and help the –

_No_. Ingwion's brow creased as the left corner of his lips turned down. His stomach suddenly felt ill. _No_. _Not help the Kinslayers_. _Never to help the Noldor_. _We are to defeat Morgoth for us, for Ennor, and for the Valar; not for the Noldor_. The prince and captain dearly hoped that he would not cross paths with any Noldorin forces, albeit he doubted that. Peripherally, he caught movement to his side, and he turned with a calm mask towards an approaching Arafinwë. . .

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* * *

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… _First Age 545 – First Age 587_ …

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* * *

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The War of Wrath has so far been happening for one month; and yet, it feels like a year. I sigh: And to think we have to go through a total of forty-two years of this shit. Damn you to the Void, Morgoth.

Through the bustling main camp, I dodge out of the pathways of others as I make way towards the Noldor's side from the Dwarves' side. For now (and due to my young age), I'm just acting as a fast messenger between armies and their leaders. And as I quickly move about, a song suddenly pops into my mind, and I proceed to hum it lowly. It is a nice lullaby; although kind of creepy, I find the lyrics to be insanely fitting with the war and what is going on through our minds.

Rain patters. I catch sight of a lonely, small bushel of adorable blue forget-me-nots defying the now-wet sands . . . That is trampled on two seconds later by two hasty warriors carrying another one who is dying and screaming with a severed left leg and a portion of his intestines languidly drooping out into the open.

_Huh_, I scoff bitterly. How terribly fitting.

And then continuing my walk; I sing gently:

"_Our names won't be remembered_

_If we die like trampled flowers_

_I refuse to be forgotten_

_Written off as less than worthless. . ._"

.

* * *

.

Worthless.

They were all worthless to him.

The Elves and anyone else on their side were just flies waiting to be swatted and shoved into their rightful places.

His forces across the lands were dauntless. Those still in Angband and preparing themselves were eager. All secret passageways were demolished. And Angband was fortified to a higher degree. It would take _a while_ before they would show themselves at his door.

Morgoth's fingernails dug into the shiny, obsidian armrests of his grand throne.

.

* * *

.

"Seventy thousand against one hundred thousand. And that is not including those who are not orcs."

"Then we shall have to even the odds, Little King."

"I swear . . . Why is it that every time you look at me, it is with this certain _amusement_?"

"You shoulder a great responsibility as High King, yet you are young and not even two hundred years of age. I am merely impressed."

Ereinion Gil-Galad's eyes vaguely softened from their hardened look as he absentmindedly traced a certain braid that began at the side of his head and came down and past his shoulder; stroking the thin golden ribbon that was delicately woven through it. Procuring a nod of his head, the ellon spurred his glossy, black stallion around; having the horse trot down the high, sandy hill and making way towards the front lines.

Ancalagon's black armour shined. Briefly surveying the advancing enemy, he procured a roar before leaping off of the tall hill and morphing into his original dragon form. Passing over the heads of the elven warriors, he flew above the enemy in seconds; and instantly, the black dragon released his fire storm. A large portion of orcs, trolls, wargs and wolves were incinerated immediately due to the fact that the Lord of Dragons' fire was the most hottest and deadliest of them all.

_And now the odds have been evened_, Ancalagon thought as he made a smooth U-turn; noticing how the elves began their charge.

.

* * *

.

"_Scream and cry but none will hear you_

_Plead and beg but none will help you_

_You no longer live as cattle_

_Will you rise and join the battle?_"

.

* * *

.

They screamed and cried; pleaded and begged, yet the torture did not cease. Most prisoners were smooshed against each other within cells of an underground dungeons and torture complex. Above that in the desert dunes was a sizable guard post with a few tents and beastly humanoids surrounding it – preparing themselves for an upcoming attack.

"Let's take this one!"

Through the dark and poorly-lit underground complex, a weakened prisoner was dragged across the sticky, bloodied floors. "N-no! No, please!" A grotesquely mutilated body was shoved off the iron table before the beseeching man, and the stench alone was enough for him to vomit.

"Disgusting human," commented another orc as he assisted the other in shoving their next victim onto the table. They proceeded to chain his wrists and ankles.

"Please, I will tell you anything!" The man choked on the remainder of his vomit and he coughed so violently, that a small dizziness began to consume him.

A different orc, who was sharpening a jagged meat slicer, laughed. "You should've decided that when we gave you the choice before! Not that we would've let you go in the first place. . ."

A feral gleam shining within his beady eyes, a bald-headed orc grabbed the meat slicer and abruptly cut open the bare stomach of the man. He screamed and screamed. "STOP!"

Akin to a child grasping for sweet, fluffy cakes, an orc with dreadlocks greedily pulled out the man's coiled intestines.

"FUCK, IT HURTS! STOP IT!"

The disembowelment continued on for twenty minutes; yet to the dying man, it felt like hours. His loud cries were suddenly muted as his vocal cords became quite strained. "P-please . . . I'm b-begging you," he eventually rasped.

"You disgusting bastards!" yelled a furious prisoner, who thrashed around violently in his chains. "We are not toys you can use for your own twisted pleasure!"

The humanoid with the meat slicer shrugged flippantly, and he turned to a comrade with an axe. "He's annoying; cut 'im –"

An arrow whizzed into the room; embedding itself into the speaker's occipital lobe. As he tumbled to the filthy ground, the orcs within the room turned and stared in inkling towards the shadowed doorway at the far side of the room. Growling, a different orc with dreadlocks tightened his hold onto his mace whilst stepping towards said doorway; and as soon as he stepped in, a gleaming elvish blade swiped through his neck and his head plopped rather ungracefully with a loud splatting sound. Kicking the headless body to the ground, Noldor warriors stormed the underground complex; battling their enemy whilst trying to protect the prisoners. After the current room was clear, many of the warriors charged ahead throughout the hallways and other chambers in order to clear the vicinity of any other remaining orcs.

"It would seem that Ancalagon was right about this place, General," one Noldo commented almost dryly.

"Well of course he was not lying – he no longer serves Morgoth," Lërynion responded bitterly. He had only been promoted to the rank of 'General' one year prior to this day, when the previous general received two rapid Easterling arrows through his head. . .

A gargled gasp captured Lërynion's attention and he turned; swallowing some bile when he came to the metal table with the sweaty disembowelled man. Aforementioned man looked at the Noldo feebly. "P-please . . . E-end this for m-me . . . M-make it s-swift."

The ellon with ink-black hair and emerald green eyes released a shaky breath as his heart cracked upon taking a longer look at the whole scene. Arriving to the side of the table, he placed a warm, gloved left hand over the man's eyes and forehead; and to the mortal, the touch felt tranquil. Unsheathing his long dagger after a moment, Lërynion hovered it over the man's chest while speaking with a firm quietness in Quenya. "Close your eyes and rest, Child of Ilúvatar. May Eru heal your fëa and may you be surrounded in eternal peace."

A ghost of a smile played the corners of the human's lips. "T-thank you. . ."

Lërynion – almost reluctantly – plunged the dagger into the man's heart. "You are free."

.

* * *

.

"_There are beings that live off our fears_

_And their words are like knives_

_As they play with our lives_

_They'll try to control you_

_As if they own you_

_Will you let them steal your freedom?_"

.

* * *

.

Fire was all that the young Sinda ellon could see. He could barely move as he laid flat on his back. There was extremely agonizing pain and there was simultaneously a strong numbness. All he could smell was fire and blood and burning flesh. Half of his face, torso, and left arm were terribly burnt; and the metal of his dark silvery armour melted into his flesh and tattered tunics. His platinum blonde hair was burnt to his chin, and his icy sapphire eyes were blurring. All he could hear was his own heartbeats and a piercing ringing sound.

"Come now; did you really think that such puny beings could hope to defeat myself? A dragon?!" the growling voice of a grey-scaled dragon seethed with sadistic mirth.

A portion of an army of Sindar stood at the ready many feet away and their eyes were glued towards the dragon in fear and anger. "Well? Do any of you plan to give me a challenge – unlike this lot whom I have just burned?" said dragon incited. The Easterlings who stood many feet behind the dragon procured taunting yells, cries and cheers.

The dying Sinda released a gargled, painful gasp; and that had caught the attention of the dark draconic beast. "And how are you still alive, elfling?" The grey dragon rose his right forehand – planning to crush the ellon beneath his claws – when an elven arrow was suddenly embedded into his left orange-red eye.

"You will not touch my son, Filth!"

The grey-scaled dragon procured an ear-piercing screech-like roar that made everyone within the wide vicinity cover their ears. The ground shook. But a wrathful Lord Oropher stood proud and defiant at the head of the Sindar warriors as he re-adjusted his bow against his back and unsheathed his glowing elvish blade. "I volunteer to be your challenge, vermin of Morgoth!"

"A-ada. . ." the fatally wounded ellon choked inaudibly. Pain emitted throughout his entire body as he coughed blood, and the thick liquid splattered along his mouth, jaws and chin.

Blood spilled from the dragon's eye, and it splashed onto the ground and corpses like a small waterfall. "The pathetic elf thinks he knows what he is doing!" The colour of molten lava glowed within his chest and throat; though before he could release his fire, a familiar voice halted his would-be action.

"Are you sure that it is not you who thinks he knows what he is doing? You issued a challenge; the dear elf accepted; and, you are cheating your way through with your fire rather than being an honourable fighter. What a fucker."

Snorting distastefully, the grey dragon bared his teeth. "Arrogant even in battle – nothing really changes with you, Traitor."

Corulagon in his Vanya elf form smiled cockily and feral-like with sharp teeth as he stood beside Oropher, right after emerging from the crowd of Sindar. "Proud to be arrogant. But, are you sure that you are not the one who is a traitor? Lord Ancalagon is very sad. . ."

"He is the worst traitor – Do not speak his name!" The grey dragon rose his claws to squash both Corulagon and Oropher – the latter rose his sword; and when he glanced at the secondary-formed dragon by his side, he shuddered at how evil Corulagon's imperious smile began to look.

The golden-haired elf-dragon procured a cheeky wink. "Charge at the humans as soon as I knock the bastard off his feet." And then he morphed whilst in sync with leaping into the air. Spreading his pale green wings, Corulagon's teeth chomped on his enemy's arm; taking their lethal aerial dragon dance into the thundering, stormy grey skies.

It began to rain.

Elves and Easterlings engaged in battle.

And a young Thranduil could no longer keep his eyelids open.

.

* * *

.

"_Channel the anger swelling inside you_

_Fighting the boundary 'till you break through_

_Deep in your soul there's no hesitation_

_So make yourself the one they all fear!_"

.

* * *

.

Ripping the irritating obsidian helm from his head, Jura in his human form chucked it across the battlefield. It crashed onto an orc's head; knocking him out as he tumbled against one of the hard, desert canyons. "I've always hated those things."

"They offer protection - Ah!" called out a vaguely amused human warrior, who had just sliced through an orc's neck.

"I'd rather risk it than to have even a slight hindrance to my eyesight." The chocolate brown-haired human-dragon delivered a swift back-kick towards the stomach of an incoming enemy; who staggered towards the ground, and soon had his head decapitated from a different mortal warrior.

"BALROGS!"

Fire-like, demonic roars resonated throughout the colossal canyons. Jura's heart pounded into his ears. He smelt the fear radiating off of those he fought with. Narrowing his light blue eyes in the direction that did not have Valaraukar ten minute prior, he focused his gaze towards the largest of the group. As soon as that particular creature met his gaze from afar, Jura charged with a draconic growl. An arrow whizzed passed him, grazing his cheek, yet he barely felt it due to his intense focus.

He ran fast – he was a dragon, after all. The Balrog advanced towards him slowly with his fire-blade at the ready . . . And then Jura morphed into his draconic form when he leaped into the air and knocked the Valarauko off his feet. Orcs and men alike forgot about fighting for a short moment and made it a priority to get out of the way from being squashed by the large, tumbling creatures.

Jura and the Valarauko simultaneously rose to their feet with such speed – the latter roaring in anger and pain at seeing his severed left arm between the sharp jaws of the brown dragon. Spitting the arm out, Jura advanced towards the livid creature; but not before receiving a stinging whiplash across his face.

.

* * *

.

"_There is a wild fire inside you_

_Burning desire you can't extinguish_

_Your crimson arrow rips through the twilight_

_This is the moment for war. . ._"

.

* * *

.

"Please don't leave."

Chief Healer Lady Lossëa found herself unintentionally pleading that in a whisper when Gil-Galad was just about to pass through the flaps of his personal tent. Turning, his gaze met her piercing emerald green eyes, and those eyes left his and trailed upon the shimmering, beautifully crafted glaive, Aeglos. A pale pink blush tinted her cheeks. "Sorry; I-I meant –"

"You've nothing to apologize for, Lossëa. What's wrong? You are normally not like this." Gil-Galad strode towards her when he spoke in his smooth voice; a nervously gentle half-smile gracing his features.

"'Tis nothing; only the stress of this war." She bit the left side of her bottom lip as her gaze re-met the young High King's. "And . . . I am so very anxious, especially for my brother and for . . . For you, Ereinion." Her eyes had already watered and a tear trailed down her cheek; but before she could wipe the salty liquid away, the ellon beat her to it. He kept his palm against her warm flesh; his gloved thumb pleasantly stroking the skin beneath her eye. Her voice cracked. "I love you, Ereinion, I love you so very much. A-and to think that you may d-die –"

Gil-Galad's crystal blues were at first widened in surprise. Then, at her final sentence, he smiled longingly as he enveloped the elleth within a firm and protective embrace. He felt lighter. "Oh, my dear Lossëa; you have no idea how happy I am to hear you say that," he breathed blissfully against the top of her head. One arm was snaked tightly around her waist, and the other one was trailed up her back; his hand splayed across the crown of her head. He allowed for his fingers to rake through the luscious inky black tresses of her wavy hair. "Do not worry – I won't die. Like before, I shall return; I will always come back. And. . ."

Wrapping her arms around his middle, Lossëa nuzzled her face into his chest; and the last of her tears cascaded down the cool gold of his polished armour.

". . . And I love you, too."

Abruptly raising her head, Lossëa's soft lips were touched with Gil-Galad's as he proceeded to kiss her with such vigor and a deep, needy passion.

.

* * *

.

"EREINION GIL-GALAD!"

"Yes, Lërynion? Is something the matter?"

"YOU! How long have you loved my sister?!"

"For almost my entire life –"

"And you never told me?!"

"I'm informing you now."

"Because I'm confronting you about it!"

"And you are livid because . . . ?"

"She is my big sister; my precious twin – of course I'll be _very_ protective of her!"

"Being protective of Lossëa does not include scaring away all of her suitors."

"Yes it does. And I'm afraid scaring you away will prove to be quite challenging."

"Ahhh, but you will not do that. Since we were tiny elflings, the three of us have been close friends; almost inseparable. I know you love me as a brother would, and I do you. I also _know_ that deep inside – whether you may admit it now or later – that you would love to give me your blessings when I ask my soulmate for her hand in marriage."

A pause.

". . . Remind me to kill you when the war ends, Your Highness."

"Duly noted, General."

.

* * *

.

"Hey, Elros! How's your brother? Has he woken up yet?"

I pad through the flaps of one of the grey-white healing tents; catching sight of two young ellyn with black hair that shone a dark brown by the middle of the long tent. Elros sits on top of a short wooden stool with a worried expression. His older twin, Elrond, lays unconscious on his back atop a narrow bed. He dons no clothing, save for black breeches; and his torso is wrapped intricately in bandages. Additionally, his left arm is in a sling.

"Hello, Kalasara," the younger twin turns his head and responds politely. "Lossëa has given him a sleeping draught earlier and he has not woken up since then."

As soon as I reach him – dodging out of the way of busy and rushed healers – and sit by the side of the bed, Elrond vaguely stirs. "The Silver Lady . . . Ohhh, she is so beautiful. . ." the injured Half-Elven mumbles in a dream-like state.

I stare at his face oddly. "Say what?"

Rolling his clear grey eyes, Elros groans. "Oh, for the love of Eru. Not again!" And then he face-palms himself.

Cue my amused laughter. "Wait, what's this about?"

"Elrond is always dreaming of this elleth he has never met before; claiming that she is his destined soul-mate! His 'one true love.' And I have to deal with this every night!" Elros complains before turning his intense gaze towards me with a right eye twitching. "Do you have any idea how _annoying_ this is? Oh, the torture!"

"Must be tough," I respond rather flippantly with a cheeky smile towards his dramatics. Seriously, I love these twins.

The younger twin glares and turns his head away. "Oh, shut up."

Elrond stirs again. "She is like the fresh winter personified . . . A winter queen . . . Her hair is of white-silver and her eyes are the most enchanting of clear, icy blue . . . I just want to hold her. . ."

More complaining ensues on Elros' part, and I just laugh even louder. Wiping a tear from my eye, I procure a sigh to calm myself. "You know, I think I know who you are talking about –"

"Who?" Elrond's response was as fast as a light-second and his clear grey orbs bore into mine with such a comical intensity. "Do you know this fair elleth?"

I've read about her . . . "Well, I've not yet met her. . ." I drawl out slowly.

Elros' facial expression is hilariously incredulous. "Then how? Wait, is this related to some of your knowledge of the future?"

Ha. Ha. Ha. "Ehhhh . . . Yes?"

Elrond's eyes sparkle eagerly. "So, this elleth is real?"

Oh, good lord; just what did I get myself into? "Not yet. She will be born sometime into the Second Age. You'll meet her later on."

"What will her name be? Who will be her parents?"

I try to avoid specific details. "Her parents are strong – her mother, especially, is powerful. I can't really give away everything. . ."

"Why is that so?" both of the brothers ask with identically puzzled faces.

I don't blame them for being curious; Elros is not yet the first king of Númenor, and Elrond is not yet one of the greatest elf-lords to have existed. They're only young. Therefore, they have yet to truly understand what it is like to have knowledge of the future. And so I procure for them a similar answer I gave Gil-Galad a few years ago: "We have to be cautious. Verbalizing the future can be the same as physically changing it. What if future events are altered and you never find this 'Silver Lady,' simply because I just flat-out tell you all of the details?"

Elros' orbs gaze to the ground in an instant understanding. Elrond seems disappointed. "Please tell me something? You do not have to be specific."

His pleading eyes almost literally burn into my soul. I sigh inaudibly; my thoughts being a little bit jumbled. "Alright, alright . . . One day you two meet. The love is deep and you two marry. Overall, the marriage is a happy one; however, something terrible happens to her a few thousand years later. One year after this incident, she sails for Valinor because her emotional and psychological scars are too great. You do eventually reunite with her, but that's after hundreds of years."

The younger twin's eyes are still cast to the ground, albeit Elrond simply stares right at me from his laying down position. His following question is almost a whisper: "What exactly . . . Happens to her?"

"No specifics, remember?"

"But you know?"

"Yep."

"Do you even know the year?"

"Not the exact year, but I know it's around a specific set of years."

Frustration flashes through his clear grey orbs. Honestly, I don't blame him at all. Elrond closes his eyes for ten seconds, and when he reopens them, he glances at me with comprehension. "May I . . . Ask you to promise me something?"

"Sure." I normally avoid making promises, but his eyes are just so pleading . . . Damn it.

"When this horrible thing happens to her . . . Will you let me know beforehand? So that it can be prevented?"

Well, I did not expect this . . . Albeit, I also somewhat did. I nod my head with kind eyes – honestly Elrond already went through so much with his younger twin brother and he will experience a lot more in the many years to come. The young ellon looks at me nodding before he rests his eyes and relaxes further into the narrow bedding. A small smile ghosts his lips. "Thank you," he replies sleepily; and almost instantly, he is unconscious again.

"And this will actually happen? Even though the books from your previous world and the reality of this world are slightly different?"

Elros stares at me fixedly and I answer after turning my face towards his. "The horrible incident that happens to this 'Silver Lady' is major within the storylines of said lady, Elrond, and his future children. It'll most definitely come to pass."

Hopefully, I will remember it when the time comes. Hopefully, I'll still be alive by then.

.

* * *

.

"_You are the prey and we are the hunters_

_You are the prey and we are the hunters_

_You are the prey and we are the hunters!_"

.

* * *

.

_A large, crimson-scaled egg sparkled radiantly as it moved and shook for the first time._

_ "Oh look, look!" Karia cried excitedly to her mate. "He's hatching!"_

_ Saël (who had previously been languidly lounging around) was now on high alert. He moved his head beside the slowly cracking dragon egg and eyed it eagerly. "We are parents," he breathed in awe; unable to fully articulate his feelings of complete joy._

_ The dragon egg moved and cracked and moved and cracked . . . And then it laid still. Saël and Karia stared expectantly towards the egg; when all of a sudden, the top of the thick shell shattered open and tumbled onto the mountain floor._

_ A tiny Smaug's head eagerly peeked out from the opening of his egg, and he breathed in his first air whilst letting out a high-pitched cry._

.

* * *

.

The birth of his son, Smaug, was the very final piece of memory that flashed through Saël's mind as he fell through the cloudy skies. He painfully crashed onto the sands of Anfauglith, squishing many humanoids in the process. Barely breathing, he knew he only had seconds left before his spirit would separate from his corporeal self. His countless wounds were quite fatal.

Before falling into an eternal rest, the mighty dragon with fiery golden eyes and gorgeous, shimmering ruby red scales glanced up towards the sky.

_Ancalagon_ . . . _I forgive you_.

.

* * *

.

I am receiving this headache. It came to me so suddenly – it's a very sad headache, and it almost had me collapse. Honestly.

Without warning, the camp becomes dark as a shadow looms over it. We do not; however, panic because that shadow belongs to Ancalagon. Releasing a happy cry, I follow him as he flies slowly above our heads. Soon morphing into his elven form in mid-air, he lands with grace near the edge of the camp.

Developing this worry, I run after him as he storms away from the tents and further into this garden of large rocks. _Dad_? _What's wrong_? I receive no answer as I climb over the taller sandy brown rocks . . . And I find him on his knees; slightly slumped over with his head lowered, and the palm of his right hand covers his mouth. "Dad?" I almost whisper when I walk around and sit down in front of his shaking self. I gently nuzzle his head.

That is when I hear a sniffle; and in a millisecond, his arms latch around me in a _tight_ and desperate embrace. His tears trail down my scales. "I k-killed him. Saël. My closest friend. My brother in all but blood. I killed him. Karia's mate. . ."

_And Smaug's father_ . . . The thought comes to me quite tragically. Honestly, I am at a loss for words. Nuzzling my head against his, he incessantly whispers, "I killed him," rapidly. Clearly, he's beginning to hyperventilate; and it just hurts me to simply see my father like this – in fact, I've never seen him like this before.

"Dad. Dad, it's okay. You're alive, and he is no longer suffering. It's alright – cry it out. There's no shame; it's just you and me here. . ."

.

* * *

.

"_Channel the anger swelling inside you_

_Fighting the boundary 'till you break through_

_Deep in your soul there's no hesitation_

_So make yourself the one they all fear!_"

.

* * *

.

The lengthy, vigorous battle has been lasting for a day; and finally, it ceased. Eärendil the Mariner atop his ship, Vingilótë, panted heavily. The Silmaril upon his brow felt like it was burning his skin. His sword dropped from his grasp. Parts of his golden hair stuck to the sweat of his face as he, the others aboard his vessel, the Maiar and the Eagles watched a colossal beast fall: A large dragon (that was more of a deformed monster than dragon) was an impatient creation of Morgoth; one that he tried to imitate off of Ancalagon. An inevitable failure, it was.

Cheers rang through the airs and grounds – where armies of Elves, Men and Dwarves had stood from a considerable distance from the great beast. Aforementioned draconic monster collapsed violently on top of the Thangorodrim; smashing the gargantuan volcanic mountains into a nothingness. Soon after, beings on either side charged against the other.

Eönwë, the Chief of the Maiar, caught sight of a satisfied-looking Ancalagon about to fly just below him and the giant Eagle he currently perched on top of. A sudden smirk graced his attractive features. "Do excuse me, Thorondor," the cheeky Maia pardoned as he hopped off of soft brown feathers and landed atop the hard, ebony black scales of the Lord of Dragon's shoulders. "I hope you do not mind, Lord Dragon?"

Ancalagon turned his head and glared at Eönwë in irritancy. "Only this once. Try something like this again, and I will not hesitate in throwing you off."

And so the Siege of Angband began. The war was nearing its' conclusion.

.

* * *

.

"_We shall take you, Melkor, to Aman for the __**proper**__ judgment to be imposed upon you!_"

.

* * *

.

"_There is a wild fire inside you_

_Burning desire you can't extinguish_

_Your crimson arrow rips through the twilight. . ._"

.

* * *

.

"Those _spawn_ of Fëanáro do not know when to quit, do they?"

"Perchance it is for the best? The Silmarilli _did_ belong to them, to their father, after all."

"The damn war only just came to an end; we don't need any more of this fuckery."

"And the audacity of them to steal those accursed jewels from the safekeeping of Lord Eönwë!"

"Have you heard yet?!"

The small group of bandaged elves and men were instantly brought to the attention of the new arrival bursting through the flaps of the healing tent.

"Whoa, calm yourself first, nya meldonya! You look exhausted – how long have you been running?"

"Doesn't matter . . . Maitimo . . . Killed himself!"

". . . H-he did w-what?"

"Maitimo threw himself into the fires; taking a Silmaril with him. . ."

.

* * *

.

Standing erect atop an extremely high sandy-brown cliff above a beach, I stare out into the blues and greens of the ocean. Seagulls cry incessantly and the sun blares ever so brightly. I do not know how long I've been here – it feels like an hour. Could be more; could be less, but I do not care. I need some time to be alone for a few moments – my traveling companions understood this, and so did my father.

Beleriand is sinking. Relics, bodies and memories will soon be deep below the ocean and simply thinking about it is heartbreaking. All of West Beleriand is already under the water and I can only hope that everyone else will be able to evacuate East Beleriand before it, too, will be swallowed up by the waves.

Apparently, I'm not alone on this cliff. Maglor (I know it's him because we have met a few times during the war, along with his red-haired older brother) is at the opposite end and he was already here when I arrived. And despite gazing wistfully out into the oceans and skies, my eyes could not help but peripherally glance at the black-haired and grey-eyed second son of Fëanor. I have previously heard that he watched his older brother commit suicide and I cannot completely fathom the intense agony and helplessness he would have felt as he watched Maedhros do the deed . . . Maglor simply stands there with his right arm extended before him; the palm of his hand facing the bright blue skies as the third remaining Silmaril procures a blinding glow atop his flesh.

My silvery eyes now return to observing the sceneries before me . . . And then I hear a yell and that makes me snap my head fully towards the opposite side of the cliff: Maglor yells loudly with various emotions swirling about him. His voice cracks. The seagulls fly away from him instantly in a panic. The Noldo shouts with fire burning in his voice – in Quenya, so for the most part, I don't really know most of what he is saying. Suddenly raising his arm higher, he chucks the Silmaril powerfully in a way that would put a major league baseball player's throw to shame.

The white jewel plops far into the waters; its' light slowly dissipating from sight as it sinks lower. Simultaneously, Maglor slumps to his knees and shins. His slightly tattered dark blue cloak fans around him, and his long, dark tresses pool to the ground in front of him. His shoulders faintly shake, and I cannot help but pad over to his form. Slowly.

"Makalaurë," I great with a quiet and cordial gentleness. I am soon met with glassy grey eyes that radiate with such grief and regret. A few tears cascade down his cheeks every now and then, and all of a sudden, I want to cry. I don't cry; however, but my heartstrings are _pulled_ so much that it hurts and they might just snap apart. He just looks so broken; I cannot even think properly!

"Kalasara. . ." he responds weakly and he quietly sniffles with light pink cheeks and a red-pink nose. I lower my body so that my head is at level to his head . . . And I am instantly met with a fierce hug from the ellon before me. My neck wraps around his and I nuzzle tenderly against the crown of his head.

And we stay like that for some time . . . "The elves were permitted to return to Aman," I finally speak. "Eönwë led the many who chose to return. You did not want to go?"

Maglor's reply was somewhat muffled. "I have no right. Because of what I've done; what atrocities I have committed and commanded for others to do. I cannot return. I have no right."

"But you can be pardoned, can you not?" Honestly, I'm not entirely sure about that. It is a possibility, though. Of all of Fëanor's sons, I find that Maedhros and Maglor truly understood everything. They truly regretted their crimes and that they never would have bound themselves to the Silmarilli if their leader was not their father. They tried not to do certain things, but they _had_ to due to the taking the Oath.

The Noldo stays silent as he releases the embrace and stands to his feet. I stand with him; noticing that his eyes seem to focus beyond the horizon. I gently speak again: "I'm travelling with Gil-Galad and his host. I'm positive that he will let you join us – he is, like, your nephew. And Celebrimbor's with us, too! You can come with us; you can stay with us as we settle into a new home. Círdan is also with us; and when you're ready to leave Middle-Earth, you can request that he build a ship for you to sail. _Please_ come with us?"

An airy, saddened laugh escapes from Maglor's lips. The wind serenely plays with his hair that is loose with not even one small braid adorning it. "Thank you, but I cannot do that. It is not as simple as it sounds."

No, Maglor; you are _not_ wandering Middle-Earth alone. You are _not_ doing that for as long as you live, and you will _not_ disappear and leave us all to wonder in regards as to what will have become of you. "Makalaurë –"

"I shall travel alone, for the time being," the tall ellon smoothly interrupts as he turns to face me with a smile so tragic, that my heartstrings begin to pull again.

I hate that my efforts are ending up to be futile. "You can't be alone; not in the state that you're currently in! You need a few others to –"

"Don't follow me," came his light and almost inaudible interruption that is accompanied with a small lilt. Procuring a calloused hand, he runs it almost affectionately along my muzzle and down the shiny lavender scales of my neck; and that has me purr. The palm of his other hand is burnt from previously holding the Silmaril. "Namárië young Kalasara, daughter of Ancalagon the Black. We may or may not meet again." Stepping backwards, Maglor gifts me with a small, though bright smile and his reddened and weary eyes contradict that with their display of agony. "Pretend I was never here."

He turns and walks; leaving me gaping at him horrified. Continuing to walk, the Noldo disappears by the edge of a cliff, and I deduce that there is probably some safe and a not overly steep path that would lead down this piece of land. It is after ten minutes that I catch sight of him emerging into the beaches, and he strolls down the indefinite length of the sands with his dark cloak and lovely black hair gently trailing behind him. As stalker-like as this may sound, my eyes follow his form for a while. Soon he becomes a dot; and even sooner, I see nothing.

Maglor's fate has always been something that "got" to me. I can't believe that I simply let him go at that last moment; but then again, I generally respect others' decisions . . . Even so, he does not deserve this. I highly doubt isolating oneself and living in the past for a _long time_ would do any good. . .

"N-no . . . Makalaurë! Makalaurë?!"

In my sadness and panic, I begin to call out his name. I leap off of the edge of the cliff; using my wings so that it would be a smoother fall, albeit I do tumble a bit on the beach due to my haste. Some sort of determination takes over me, and I run along the sands in the same direction that Maglor took off in.

"Please, can you hear me?! MAKALAURË! COME BACK!"

Repeatedly shouting out his name, I begin to feel this haunting chill as I make note to the fact that there are no traces of footprints embedded into the soft sand. It is as if he was never here. And so I keep running only to continue to see nothing.

"MAKALAURË! YOU DON'T DESERVE THIS SO-CALLED FATE! Please. . ."

I stop running and my breathing is laboured. The cries of the seagulls proceed to irritate me deeply, and it takes me every ounce of my restraint to prevent myself from frying them to ashes.

"VALARDAMNIT, SON OF FËANOR; WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO YOURSELF?!"

For the third time today, my heartstrings begin to pull. This time, they snap apart like an ugly elastic. And this time, I cry.

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"_. . . This is the moment. . ._"

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Ennor – Middle-Earth – (Sindarin) – {Additionally, the Quenya Equivalent is 'Endor' or 'Endórë'}

Adar/Ada – Father/Dad – (Sindarin)

Nya Meldonya – My Friend – (Quenya)

Namárië – Farewell – (Quenya)

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*** After Note I – BOOM. That totally happened. Anyways, feel free to drop a review and let me know what you think~! :D ***

*** After Note II – So this chapter concludes the First Age section of the story~ It was kinda like an interlude of sorts, and it didn't feel right to just simply skip ahead to the Second Age. Also, it's a war and I _love_ writing about action – especially battles and wars and the other stuff that happens during them. Suffice to say that when I get to writing the War of the Last Alliance, it'll be more detailed with more chapters, and it **won't** be condensed like this one – especially since Smaug and Kalasara will be more active participants in that war~ =3 ***

*** After Note III – About the song: The song that Kalasara sings is the lullaby version of "Guren no Yumiya" – the first opening to the _Shingeki no Kyojin_ (or _Attack on Titan_) anime~ This specific lullaby version is by the YouTuber, LeeandLie, and she has purposely altered some of the direct English translations for it~ In addition, I've never tried the "song-fic/song-chapter" thing _ever_, so this was my first attempt. Chances are I most likely won't do this again; I just thought that this song was quite fitting, and I wanted it to set the mood throughout the chapter (which, to me, makes it more interesting), instead of keeping the song in one scene without any interruptions (which, to me, especially if it's a long song, kinda detaches from the story). (^–^) ***

*** After Note IV – About some scenes: Yeah, that ending . . . I thought that writing it as is would be quite fitting~ Poor Maglor! Dxxx With Corulagon, there is a reason why I chose him to "save" Thranduil/Oropher (obviously, I'm not saying anything right now). In addition – and as reluctant as they may be – I honestly picture at least a _certain portion_ of the Sindar to assist in the war. o.o A 'Dragon versus Valarauko' one-on-one was something I've always wanted to write, so I gave Jura that honour considering the somewhat "changed" circumstance to this war~ *,* With the torture scene, I couldn't resist writing it . . . War is war, after all. Initially, it was a lot more violent and detailed (I even had a nail-ripping scene); though after reading over it, I decided to "soften" it up in a sense~ And Gil-Galad . . . DON'T DENY IT; HE DESERVES A LOVER. Again, I couldn't resist it . . . I just had to give him a future queen. Tee Hee~ :3 ***

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**Guest:** Here was the next one~ ;) Thank you, and have a good day~! :D

**Guest:** Hmmmm, a future Smaug versus Scatha showdown . . . Keep holding on to that feeling~ ;D Glad you like the Smaug/Kalasara romance line! I know, it's not much now; but it'll get pretty passionate in the future . . . To me, a romance is more solid if the two candidates were firstly good friends~ Thanks very much, and have a good day~! :D

**Guest123:** Whoa, thanks for your reviews – they were quite amusing to read~ LOL, yes: Sauron really does need to calm down, doesn't he? x) And yeah; there is a reason why Jura saw Glorfindel and that memory . . . But that's for later~ ;) Have a good day~! :D

**Guest:** Thanks very much for your words~! \\(*–*)/ And yeah, I agree: Poor grammar and an absence of paragraphs are big turn offs – even if the story ideas are pretty good. (–_–;) Hope you have a lovely day~! ^w^

**Guest:** Thank you, and I hope you have a good day~! =D

**Guest:** *hugs* Awww, thank you so much for your awesome and uplifting words~! Glad to hear that you're liking what I'm doing with the dragons~ \\(*-*)/ I'm also playing around with the idea that we see everywhere when it some to dragons; that is, they are proud creatures and they **do not** like to be controlled by others. Methinks Tolkien knew this too, which would most likely be why he did not canonically make Smaug have this automatic urge to consider serving Sauron during the Third Age . . . Thanks again, and I wish you a fabulous day, as well~! =3

**Guest/Meggls:** As you've noticed here, I've condensed the remaining years of the First Age into this chapter~ ;) Yesh, there will be time skips; however, I will not skip ahead to the events leading toward _The Hobbit_ so quickly in just a few chapters. That would not be very fun nor enjoyable . . . Additionally, the **majority** of the important events (and secondary important events) that I planned for this story take place within the Second Age – major character developments and a lot of relationship-building also happen in SA~ Thank you for dropping by, and I wish you a good day~! =D

**Sam:** OH MY GOODNESS, I LOVE YOUR ENTHUSIASM! x333 LOL, I'm glad you like it; thank you very much, and I hope you have a lovely day~! *-*

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	11. His Precious Daughter

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*** Note I – A big thank you to those favoring, following and reviewing my fanfic; it really makes me happyyy~ =') You people are awesome, and I hope you enjoy this next chapter~! =D ***

*** Note II – Disclaimer: I obviously do not own the too-awesome-for-words Tolkien Universe. I own my OCs and my imagination~ :3 ***

*** Note III – Okie Dokie Loki, so this chapter is pretty much the prologue for the "actual" story~ And as I've mentioned before, all chapters prior this is one giant prologue of backstory~ I did this 'cause I wanted to build up how things came to be. I wanted to write about dragons in the First, Second and Third Ages – not just the Third, where there it's limited and not very fun and blah . . . The earlier the Ages, the more magical and awesome and fun they are . . . *sighs tragically* . . . ANYWAYS: I also really wanted to write about Ancalagon and extend his life a bit so that he doesn't die during the War of Wrath (and a dragon as majestic as him deserves more screen time. Plus, I _love_ playing with him). In addition, I wanted an excuse to write about a little kid Smaug~ xDDD ***

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**~ 010 – His Precious Daughter ~**

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"Never that which is shall die."

~ Euripides

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… _Second Age 36_ …

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Hee hee.

Guess who's finally one hundred years old? Today marks my next chapter in the dragon life: Deciding whether or not I want a secondary form right now; and if a 'yes,' then choosing and morphing into aforementioned form. Also, I have only just come to learn that once I'm in the secondary form for the first time, I will have to stay in said form for one month straight without reverting back to my original draconic self. This is because if I do end up changing prior the passing of the month, something will apparently happen to my genes where my morphing ability will end up in a permanent comatose of sorts . . . So, exactly one month offers the proper changes, acceptances and adjustments for my body to be able to handle the mutation.

These lands are in Lindon – Gil-Galad's realm was established sometime during the first year of this age, and he is gradually becoming the Lord of Eriador. A major wedding also took place two years after that: Lossëa became Gil-Galad's queen; and apparently, up until the day of the wedding, he was forced to deal with Lërynion's over-dramatics . . . Actually, now that I remember, I have indeed witnessed some of the general's antics. Suffice to say, it was so very hilarious.

A deep sadness had resonated within most of us during an important Tolkien Timeline event about four years ago – Gil-Galad and Círdan were slightly more grieved. And Elrond. Oh my Manwë, do not even get me started on him! The older Half-Elven twin was (and is still) quite heartbroken with regards to the ordeal. And so far from my current understanding, Elrond continues to be pissed off at me for not telling him that this would come to pass . . . Four years ago, the younger Half-Elven twin decided to be a part of the race of Man. Although actually coming to terms with that decision more than four years ago, Elros did not undergo his human change until the early morning of the day that he and a huge group of mortals were to sail to the Island of Númenor. . .

The air is chilly, but rather pleasing. It is also quite moist – the rain was heavy last night – yet it smells fresh and almost sweet, like the faint scent of honey and strawberries. Currently, it is very early in the morning; in fact, the sun is only just peeking out from the horizon. Hiding between tree branches and leaves, the birds chirp and sing to greet the new spring day. There is a lake that is neither too small nor too large within a grassy clearing that is surrounded by trees; and large, random brown-grey rocks litter the area. Currently standing at its' banks, I gaze nervously into the waters. I've grown to be quite large; however seeing that I am not yet a full adult of two hundred years of age, I shall continue to increase in size until then.

"Kalasara, you are not nervous . . . Are you?" Ancalagon's abrupt comment floats into my ears.

Turning, I almost glare at his amused face as he, in his elven form, perches atop a rock. "A little," I begin sheepishly. "This morphing business . . . Does it hurt?"

Ada (over the years, I've developed a preference in using Sindarin for 'father' and 'dad') titters. "Goodness, no! It will feel odd the first few times; strange and new with a bit of this stretching feeling. Worry not; you will feel no form of pain." His ruby jewels for eyes sparkle mirthfully. "Now hurry up! I want to hold you."

I snort a laugh at that. And then my face returns towards the direction of the blue waters and I close my eyes. Like a mantra, I repeat my decision within my head. The occasional splashing of the fish and the birds' chirps become faint and distant echoes. Suddenly, I sense that I am shrinking – I feel pulled, stretched, condensed and twisted . . . However it is not painful at all. Weirdly enough, it is actually rather quite ticklish. As soon as it feels as though everything ceases, I instantly feel this gush of cold wind. Due to the early morning wind chill, my skin discerns goosebumps and my nipples feel achingly erect –

Wait a second.

"Well done, Kalasara," came the pleased voice of my ada.

Opening my eyelids and gazing with a vaguely confused face into the clear waters, I am met with the reflection of that of a young elleth's. Oh Valar . . . It worked! I mean, I knew it would; but still! This is honestly so inexplicably amazing and refreshing! I'm completely naked. Yet it strangely does not entirely bother me . . . Fingers twitching for a short moment, I refrain from wanting to grab at my medium-sized breasts – _don't_ judge me. I am simply amazed that I have fuller breasts considering that I was very flat-chested in my previous life, and was jealous of those with more enticing chests. My features are delicate and innocent-looking; my eyes are still silvery; and my straight, hip-length hair is white-silver in colour. It fumbles softly in the breeze like dainty, silken threads. . .

"Ohhh, my precious daughter is so beautiful," Ancalagon coos almost in a lilt as I turn my head; noticing that he had come closer to my side. He gazes at my face with such warmth, and his handsome smile is true, radiant and fatherly.

"Adaaaa," I whine, "I'm cold." Body turning to face him, my knees buckle and my face ends up crashing into his solid solar plexus. "Ow! What the fuck?!"

Ancalagon laughs – clearly he's in a _very_ good mood today – as he steadies me and then lifts me up into his arms. "Careful, now – do not rush anything."

Wrapping my arms around his neck, I lightly rub my nose against his shoulder. "Wait, so what happened? My legs all of a sudden felt weak and were unable to support myself!"

"You, my lovely little one, will have to re-learn how to walk again," he answers entertainingly whilst he sits atop shiny green grass with his back against a large rock and his long legs outstretched; the heels of his black boots being roughly one centimetre away from touching the water of the shiny lake. The sun is a dash bit more prominent within the skies.

"Come again?" I stare at him horrified before adjusting my body on Ada's lap.

"Don't worry!" the elf-dragon reassures me, accompanied with a small and kind smile; albeit an impishness dances within his bright, exotic eyes. "It is merely a small adjustment that won't last very long. You will be able to walk again in exactly twenty-four hours from now. . ."

Damn it. I have to wait until tomorrow at around this this time, then. Shaking my head against his chest, a frustrated whine-like moan escapes my lips . . . Ada smoothens out my hair before he takes his arms off of me, and I hear the rustling of clothing as my bare back feels pleasant silk. "You need clothes. Here – wear this for the time being."

Ancalagon fans his ruby red robe behind me, and I easily slide my arms through the billowing sleeves. I smirk mischievously. "Yes because it shall be quite a scandal to waltz through Mithlond buck naked." I giggle at the mental image of my comment.

An expression of annoyance crosses his features as he folds the material of the oversized robe across my body; preserving my modesty. "I care not about scandal." A surprised cry releases from me when he, without warning, crushes me against his torso into a firm and protective hug. "I do _not_ want random people leering over yourself. Not ever; else, I am afraid that I will have to gouge their eyes out."

Well then. That escalated quickly.

Re-wrapping my arms around his neck, I rest the left side of my face against his muscled chest. I close my eyes, and whilst blissfully resting, one of Ada's hands pats and strokes my head affectionately; his fingers ghosting through the white-silver tresses of my hair. He places a kiss atop my head.

And we stay like that for a while; reveling in the ecstasy of being in each other's arms, of being _together_.

The sound of a tranquil fire fills my hearing for three seconds before Ancalagon's voice resonates into my ears: "Kalasara, look."

Opening my eyes and turning my head slightly, I release a joyful cry; mesmerized at the flying fire-butterfly. "Did you do that? Did you _actually_ just do that? How did you . . . ?" Akin to a curious kitten, my eyes never release their hold on the object in the air before me. The fire is gentle and never-stopping. The butterfly flaps as though it is in a special dance; thin threads and wisps of fire trail from it like dainty, curling little ribbons.

It lands on my nose – it's warm, but the fire does not bother me at all. Proceeding to bat at it, the elemental butterfly departs from my nose as soon as I raise one of my arms . . . And it continues dancing and flapping and twirling until it comes apart from its' shape and merges with the golden orange skies.

A chuckle floats into my ears; and turning towards Ancalagon, I am met with a wide smirk that is filled with such intense smugness.

"Ada, you're a show-off." And I bite his nose.

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*** After Note I – Feel free to drop a review and let me know what you think~! :D Next chapter will get back to being longer and descriptive, as this one's only short due it being a prologue and a transitional chapter~ ^–^ ***

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**Guest:** Thank you very much, and I hope you have a good day~! \\(^w^)/

**Guest:** Here was zee next one~ ;) Thanks a bunch, and have a good day~! =3

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	12. Author's Note(Fic Will NOT Be Abandoned)

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Okie Dokie Loki - I know that Author's Notes as a separate "chapter" are not allowed, so I will delete this document by tomorrow or the next day.

Now to the main event:

Hello lovely people,

Sincere and profuse apologies for the lack of updates for _almost a year_. I won't be explaining every little detail, so I will try to keep this as 'to the point' as possible: At first it was busyness, tiredness and the wanting to take some time off from writing. After that certain amount of time that I had planned to take off, I don't know what really happened: I ended up focusing my writing towards my own original novels; and in terms of fanfiction, I put those works to the side (around that time, I had just begun my first job).

I am a nineteen-year-old who is aiming and slowly executing building up my career path and future life to a degree that I can love, enjoy, be proud of and feel comfortable with. And I was too caught up in that, that I've, for the most part, forgotten about my own fanfiction. Recent reviews that I've been receiving for the past two months had reminded me of my own fanfictions and with the fact that I truly missed writing them and being a part of this website. I am sorry, and I will soon be releasing myself from this "Hiatus Phase".

I've also been putting on hold the updates of the stories that I follow; so to those of you who follow this story who also happen to have stories that I also follow, I am sorry, and I will catch up and review your updates very soon. :3

To those of you who have left messages and reviews, I apologize for not replying sooner. I will answer them as soon as possible.

I express gratitude for your time and patience. *offers you all a whole buffet line of cakes and pies and other sweets*

~ Emperor DeLacus

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